TAKEDA    IZUMO 

THE  PINE-TREE 

(MATSU) 

A    Drama,    adapted   from   the   Japanese 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTORY  CAUSERIE  ON  THE 
JAPANESE  THEATRE 

BY 

M.    C.   MARCUS 


JAPANESE   DRAWINGS 

REPRODUCED  BY  KIND  PERMISSION  OF  THE  ORIENTAL 
SUB-DEPARTMENT    OF  THE   BRITISH   MUSEUM. 


NEW  YORK 

DUFFIELD    &    COMPANY 
1916 


CONTENTS 


CAUSERIE    ON   THE   JAPANESE   THEATRE  : 

PAGE 

Chapter    I.    SOME    GLIMPSES    OF   OLD   JAPANESE 

LITERATURE    n 

,,  II.  THE  ELEMENTS  OF  JAPANESE  DRAMA  29 

„  III.  EARLY  TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY         ...  39 

,,  IV.  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  DRAMA         ...  49 

„  V.  THE    CLASSICAL     PERIOD.  —  TAKEDA 

IZUMO  AND  HIS  "  PlNE  TREE  "          ...         57 

,,       VI.    THEATRICAL  CUSTOMS 71 


PAGE 
THE    PINE-TREE       85 


THE    PINE-TREE 

(MATSU) 


THE   CHICHESTEK  PRESS, 

30  &  31,  FURNIVAL  STREET,  HOI.BORN, 
LONDON,  B.C. 


All  rights  reserved,  especially  that  of  translation  into 
foreign  languages,  including  the  Scandinavian,  that  of 
theatrical  performance  and  of  kinematographic  adaptation. 

First  published  January  1916. 


CAUSERIE 

ON   THE  JAPANESE   THEATRE 


I. 


SOME    GLIMPSES    OF    OLD 
JAPANESE  LITERATURE. 


'HE  literature  of  a  nation  is 
at  once  the  result  and  the 
mirror  of  its  national 
character.  There  is  perhaps  more 
truth  in  this  than  in  BUFFON'S  "  Le 
style,  cest  I'homme."  The  Far- 
Eastern  insular  empire  has  for 
many  a  century  enjoyed  a  civilisa- 
tion which,  with  respect  to  the 
material  as  well  as  the  ideal  side, 
has  reached  a  very  high  standard. 
The  most  delicate  flower  of  Japanese 
civilisation  is  an  extraordinary,  lofty 
sense  of  honour,  which  among 
other  things  gives  us  the  explana- 
tion of  that  curious  custom  of 

—   11    — 


SOME   GLIMPSES   OF 

suicide  called  "  Harakiri"  But  on 
the  other  hand  there  exists  a  vast 
amount  of  low,  Oriental  sensuality, 
a  continual  incitement  to  lust  and 
cruelty.  All  these  qualities,  good 
and  bad,  will  be  found  in  the 
Japanese  literature.  Again,  truly 
artistic  as  they  are,  they  seem  never 
to  have  sought  to  overstep  the 
limits  of  pure  decorative  art,  and 
just  as  in  their  paintings  they  have 
always  been  content  to  treat  the 
human  figure  in  a  purely  conven- 
tional manner,  without  any  light 
and  shade,  so  is  their  literature 
generally  somewhat  misty  and 
lacking  perspective. 

Considering  the  uncommon  talent 
of  the  Japanese  as  a  nation,  and  con- 
sidering the  extensive  differences 
which  separate  them  from  their 
Mongol  neighbours,  the  Chinese,  it  is 
most  remarkable  that  they  should 
have  actually  borrowed  from  them 

—    12   — 


OLD   JAPANESE   LITERATURE. 

their  written  characters  and  even 
some  of  their  literary  forms.  More 
than  that,  they  kept  the  ideographic 
Chinese  writing  even  after  they  had 
invented  their  own  phonetic  alpha- 
bet, consisting  of  48  letters,  which 
they  write  and  pronounce  in  two 
different  fashions — the  katukana 
(the  square  hand)  and  the  firagana 
(the  running  hand)  which  has 
several  varying  styles.  There  are 
two  distinct  Japanese  languages, 
the  spoken  and  the  written.  In  the 
latter  one  notices  a  great  difference 
in  the  inflexions,  which  are  in 
nearly  all  cases  totally  unlike  those 
used  in  the  colloquial  language. 
Further,  in  writing,  the  Japanese 
have  kept  a  large  amount  of  old 
expressions  and  words  fallen  in 
disuse  in  conversation.  Finally,  in 
writing,  they  mix  the  Chinese 
ideographic  characters  with  the 
Japanese  double-meaning  phonetic 

—    13   — 


SOME   GLIMPSES    OF 

letters.  All  this  may  give  an  idea 
how  intensely  difficult  it  is  to  read 
and  write  Japanese.  Like  the 
Chinese,  the  Japanese  do  not  use 
nib  and  writing  ink,  but  brush  and 
Indian  ink.  The  lines  of  writing  are 
perpendicular  and  read  downwards 
(for  they  say  :  "  Writing  shows 
man's  thoughts  and  man  stands 
upright").  The  columns  begin  to 
the  extreme  right  of  the  reader, 
and  thus  a  Japanese  book  starts 
where  our  volumes  end. 


Love  is  supposed  to  have  inspired 
the  first  ode  composed  in  Japan, 
the  Emperor  Jimmu  having  been 
moved  to  song  on  meeting  the 
maiden  Isuzu.  It  is  said  that  at 
this  time — namely,  in  the  7th 
century  B.C. — there  lived  also  a  poet 
called  SosANO-ONO-MiKOTO.  But 
there  is  ground  for  disbelieving 

—    14   — 


OLD   JAPANESE    LITERATURE. 

ancient  Japanese  chronology.  The 
reason  for  such  doubt  is  the  extra- 
ordinary longevity  assigned  by  the 
chronology  to  the  first  Mikados. 
The  Emperor  Jimmu  ascended  the 
throne  in  660  B.C.  Of  his  first 
fourteen  successors  eleven  are  said 
to  have  lived  considerably  over 
one  hundred  years.  One  of  them, 
Keiko,  reached  the  age  of  one 
hundred  and  forty-three  years, 
while  his  predecessor,  Suinin, 
attained  an  age  of  but  two  years 
less.  These  exaggerations  which 
only  ceased  after  the  year  399  A.D. 
make  it  rather  difficult  to  assign 
correct  dates  to  early  historical 
events.  However  this  is  of  no 
consequence.  The  one  thing  which 
matters  is  that  while  Jimmu  was 
Mikado  the  poet  SOSANO-ONO- 
MIKOTO  invented  the  national  metre 
called  uta.  It  consists  of  thirty-one 
syllables,  sometimes  thirty  -  two, 

—    15   —  B 


SOME   GLIMPSES   OF 

arranged  as  a  distich,  but  written 
in  five  lines  containing  5,  7,  5,  7, 
and  7  syllables  respectively.  The 
break  is  placed  after  the  third  line. 
The  meaning  of  each  such  distich 
is  continuous,  though  the  last  two 
lines  must  either  be  an  antithesis 
to  what  has  gone  before,  or  a 
varied  expression  of  the  identical 
meaning.  The  first  half  always 
prepares  the  reader  for  the  second 
one.  Thus  the  following  lament 
of  a  mother  on  the  loss  of  her 
child  : 

5     Why  has  the  harsh  wind 
7     Carried  away  the  blossoms 
5     With  his  savage  breath 

7     And  left  untouched,  uninjured 
7     The  leaves  oj  the  worn   out 
tree  ? 

Lyrical    poetry   soon   became   a 
favourite   study,  and   it  is  charac- 

—    16   — 


OLD   JAPANESE   LITERATURE. 

teristic  of  the  position  of  woman  in 
Japanese  society  that  we  find  many 
ladies  among  the  crowd  of  poets, 
ancient  and  modern.  At  the 
beginning  of  the  third  century 
SOTO-ORI-IME,  the  Mikado  Inkyo's 
Empress,  was  a  celebrated  poetess. 
The  most  popular  form  of  poetry 
was  and  remained  the  lyric  in  the 
uta  form.  There  are  serious  and 
jesting  lyrics,  erotic,  didactic,  and 
satiric,  full  of  quaint  modes  of 
thought  and  turns  of  expression. 
Yet  it  seems  rather  impossible  to 
translate  them  into  a  foreign 
language,  for  there  is  no  hope  of 
rendering  all  the  allusions  contained 
in  the  original.  LEON  DE  ROSNY, 
in  his  Anthologie  Japonaise,  has, 
however,  succeeded  in  imitating 
the  delicacy  of  some  of  the  erotic 
lyrics.  The  Japanese  possess 
several  collections  of  these  national 
lyrics.  The  oldest  of  these  collec- 

—    17   — 


SOME   GLIMPSES   OF 

tions  dating  from  the  third  century 
is  called  "  Man-jo-shiu"  which 
means  "  the  collection  of  one 
thousand  leaves."  But  the  most 
popular  is  the  "  Hyak-niu-ishiu  "  or 
"  collection  of  the  hundred  poets," 
which  appeared  much  later  and 
contains  several  pieces  written  by 
Emperors.  This  anthology  is  to  be 
found  in  the  Mikado's  palace  as 
well  as  in  the  beggar's  hut,  it  exists 
in  the  cheapest  editions  and  in  the 
most  magnificent,  and  everybody 
knows  the  lyrics  it  contains.  There 
exists  a  metric  English  translation 
of  the  "  Hyak-niu-ishiu"  by  J.  V. 
DICKINS. 

In  the  earliest  times  there  was 
but  one  seat  of  learning  and  litera- 
ture in  Japan  :  Kyoto,  the  capital 
of  sensuous  delight,  Kyoto,  where 
the  Mikado  resided.  The  nobles 
composing  his  court  enjoyed  gene- 
rally a  very  quiet  life,  and  loved  to 

—    18   — 


OLD   JAPANESE    LITERATURE. 

devote  their  time  to  poetry,  which 
they  held  in  highest  honour,  and  to 
the  writing  of  diaries.  These 
diaries  form  the  first  historical 
works  of  the  Japanese.  A  number 
still  exist  and  offer  a  fascinating 
insight  into  the  life  at  Kyoto  in 
days  of  yore.  Again,  it  is  to  be 
noted  that  many  of  the  best 
writings  were  done  by  women. 

The  first  work  treating  of 
Japanese  history  seems  to  have  been 
written  in  620  A.D.,  with  the  Empress 
SUIKO  (593-628)  as  editress,  but 
it  has  not  been  preserved.  The 
same  fate  occurred  to  the  next  work 
which  appeared  sixty  years  later. 
But  at  the  same  time  the  Mikado 
Temmu  (673-686)  ordered  that  all 
the  then  existing  records  should  be 
compiled  and  carefully  examined 
to  remove  all  possible  mistakes. 
One  of  the  noblemen  of  the  court, 
called  HIYEDA  -  NO  -  ARE  (some 

—   19   — 


SOME   GLIMPSES   OF 

writers  affirm  that  HIYEDA-NO-ARE 
was  a  woman)  was  entrusted  with 
the  editorship.  Soon,  however, 
Temmu  died,  and  it  was  only  in  711 
during  the  reign  of  the  Empress 
Gremm'o  (708-715)  that  the  work 
was  finished  and  appeared  under  the 
title  "  Kojiki"  which  means  "  record 
of  ancient  things." 

Only  nine  years  later  another 
similar  work  appeared  under  the 
auspices  of  Gemnio's  successor,  the 
Empress  Genshd  (715-723).  Its 
name  was  "  Nihongi"  ("The 
Japanese  Record"),  and  it  seems 
at  first  to  have  completely  super- 
seded the  former  work  "  Kojiki." 
This  is  easy  to  understand.  The 
"  Kojiki "  was  pure  Japanese,  and 
had  the  object  of  preserving  true 
ancient  Japanese  spirit ;  while  the 
"  Nihongi  "  showed  many  traces 
of  Chinese  influence  and  was  in 
accordance  with  Chinese  ideas.  It 

—    20    — 


OLD   JAPANESE   LITERATURE. 

should  be  noted  that  a  part  of  the 
learned  and  of  the  ladies  of  the 
court  began  at  that  time  to  devote 
their  studies  to  the  cultivation  of 
the  Chinese  language.  But  more 
than  a  thousand  years  later  the 
"  Kojiki "  came  back  to  honours. 
Under  the  title  "  Kojikiden "  and 
accompanied  by  a  most  elaborate 
commentary  it  was  republished 
by  the  great  historian  MOTOORI 
NORINAGA.  He  worked  at  it  for 
32  years,  from  1764  to  1796.  The 
printing  of  the  great  work  took 
about  as  long,  from  1789  to  1822. 
MOTOORI  himself  did  not  see  the 
printing  finished,  for  he  died  in  1801. 
For  many  centuries  the  writing 
of  poetry  and  of  historical  records 
went  on  separately,  side  by  side. 
Finally,  at  the  end  of  the  twelfth 
century,  both  were  united  in  a 
great  epic.  However,  if  I  call  the 
work  to  which  I  allude  an  epic,  it 

—   21    — 


SOME  GLIMPSES   OF 

must  not  be  thought  that  it  can  in 
any  way  be  compared  to  the  pro- 
ducts of  real  epic  poetry,  as  for 
instance  the  Homeric  works.  It  is 
much  more  in  the  style  of  our 
mediaeval  rhymed  chronicles.  The 
title  indicates  this.  It  is  called 
Feike  monogatari,  which  means  a 
"history  of  the  Feike  dynasty." 
Its  author's  name  was  IKINAGA, 
and  the  work  numbers  twelve 
volumes.  It  is  said  that  it  was 
popularised  by  some  blind  rhap- 
sodists  called  seobuts. 

The  first  brilliant  period  of 
Japanese  literature  seems  to  have 
occurred  in  the  ninth  and  tenth 
centuries ;  and  not  of  literature 
only,  but  of  art  in  general.  It 
was  the  time  when  the  beautiful 
Onono  Komachi,  the  Japanese 
Ninon  de  Lenclos,  assembled  in  her 
salon,  if  I  may  say  so,  all  the  wits 
and  high  intellects  of  Kyoto  ;  the 

99 

*JJb 


OLD   JAPANESE   LITERATURE. 

time  when  HADA  KAWAKATSU,  the 
Japanese  Wagner,  wrote  his  33 
musical  dramas  (although  some 
writers  place  him  in  the  sixth 
century,  asserting  that  his 
"  operatic "  works  were  already 
completed  in  586),  the  time  when 
the  first  erotic  novels  were  pro- 
duced ;  the  time  when  ABIWABA 
NO  NARIHIRA,  a  dazzling  lady- 
killer,  wrote  his  enchanting  lyrics. 

NARIHIRA  was  indeed  a  great 
poet,  and  although  a  thousand  years 
have  gone  by,  he  still  lives  in  the 
memory  of  the  Japanese,  playing 
somewhat  the  part  of  our  Don 
Juan.  His  was  the  most  fasci- 
nating beauty,  and  the  pretty, 
gentle  ladies  of  Kyoto  simply  died 
for  his  love. 

It  is  by  the  way  rather  amusing 
for  us  occidental  people  to  see  an 
example  of  the  taste  of  these 
ladies.  We  possess  several  like- 


SOME  GLIMPSES   OF 

nesses  of  this  Japanese  Apollo 
credited  with  so  many  tears  of 
beautiful  women.  OGATA  KORIN, 
who  shares  with  HISHIKAWA 
MORONOBU  the  reputation  of  the 
greatest  Japanese  artist,  has  painted 
NARIHIRA'S  features  on  a  good 
many  of  his  pictures.  Of  course, 
these  NARiHiRA-images  are  not  to 
be  taken  as  real  likenesses,  for 
KORIN  (1657-1716)  lived  during 
the  second  classical  period,  the 
GENROKHu-era.  But  feeling  a 
certain  affinity  with  the  nobleman 
of  the  ninth  century  he  wanted 
to  give  a  decorative  representation 
of  NARIHIRA'S  characteristic 
features.  He  shows  the  poet  with 
shaved  eyebrows,  with  rather 
extraordinary  eyes  and  lips,  with 
enormous  cheeks  and  a  bull's  neck. 
Such  was  the  typical  beauty  of  this 
immortal  man,  whose  prominent 
traits  had  been  preserved  in 

—   24   — 


OLD   JAPANESE   LITERATURE. 

innumerable  woodcuts,  on  parasols, 
on  shawls,  on  teapots,  etc. 

Not  only  have  his  work  and  his 
portrait  come  down  to  us,  but  the 
poet  of  the  old,  perfumed  court  has 
himself  been  the  hero  of  one  of  the 
finest  products  of  Japanese  litera- 
ture. An  anonymous  poet,  soon 
after  NARIHIRA'S  death,  collected 
all  the  many  stories  about  his  love 
adventures,  and  wove  them  into  a 
charming  garland  of  novels  and 
stories  called  he  Monogatari, 
which  means  "  stories  from  Ise." 

The  second  period  of  brilliancy 
in  Japanese  art  and  literature,  the 
(jrENROKHU-era,  took  place  in  the 
thirty  years  between  1680  and 
1710.  It  was  a  time  which 
strangely  reminds  us  of  our  own 
rococo  period,  a  time  of  lavish 
extravagance.  After  centuries  of 
civil  wars  and  bloody  feuds,  Japan 
enjoyed  then  the  blessings  of  a 

—   25    — 


SOME   GLIMPSES   OF 

long  and  happy  peace,  which  had 
begun  in  1603  when  the  Tokugawa 
dynasty  came  to  the  office  of 
s  ho  gun. 

The  shogun  (the  full  title  Sei-i- 
tai-shogun  means  "barbarian  sub- 
jugating commander  in  chief ") 
was  an  hereditary  chancellor  of 
the  Empire,  prime  minister  and 
generalissimo,  who  held  the  real 
power,  the  shogunate  having  been 
created  in  1192  by  the  Emperor 
Takahira.  After  being  successively 
in  the  hands  of  the  Minamoto  and 
the  Hojo  family,  the  supremacy 
fell  in  1603  into  the  hands  of  the 
Tokugawa  dynasty  by  the  appoint- 
ment of  lyeyasu,  the  most  con- 
summate politician  and  general  in 
Japanese  history.  He  put  an  end 
to  the  scenes  of  bloodshed  and 
anarchy  from  which  the  whole 
country  had  suffered  terribly  for 
two  centuries  back.  By  and  by 


26    — 


OLD   JAPANESE   LITERATURE. 

the  power  of  the  noblemen  was 
broken.  lyeyasu  began  the  work, 
his  son  Hidetada  and  his  grandson 
lyemitsu  completed  it.  From  this 
time  the  nobles  sought  to  satisfy 
their  ambition  in  fields  other  than 
military.  Trade  and  manufacture 
received  thus  a  great  impetus,  and 
the  same  may  be  said  of  art  and 
literature. 

Simplicity  of  life  disappeared, 
and  sybaritism  prevailed.  People 
remained  for  hours  in  the  tea-houses 
talking  of  frivolous,  nay,  of  lasci- 
vious things.  In  literature  romanti- 
cism was  at  first  most  appreciated. 
But  soon  the  piquancy  which  was 
sought  for  in  life  began  to  show  itself 
in  literature.  At  least  one  name  must 
be  mentioned  :  SAIKAKU,  who  wrote 
the  most  wonderful  satirical  novels, 
and  whose  work  may  best  be  com- 
pared to  that  of  the  Neronian 
chronicler  Petronius.  It  is  perhaps 

—    27    — 


SOME   GLIMPSES    OF 
OLD   JAPANESE   LITERATURE. 

remarkable    that,   while    Petronius 
lived     in     Marseilles     which     was 
already    then    a   centre    of    trade, 
SAIKAKU   resided   in    Osaka   which 
played   a   similar   part.     And    like 
Petronius,  SAIKAKU  spent  his  days 
in  sleep  and  his  nights  in  pleasure. 
Like  Petronius  he  became  equally 
famous  as  an  accomplished  volup- 
tuary and  as  a   successful   writer. 
Like  Petronius  the  form  of  work  he 
introduced  in  the  literature  of  his 
country  was  the  novel,  based  on  the 
every   day   experience   of  contem- 
porary life.     For  that   second   era 
of  brilliancy  in  literature  SAIKAKU 
played   the  same  part  of  "arbiter 
elegantiae  "  as  NARIHIRA  had  played 
in  the  first.     In  both   these   poets 
humour  was  combined  with  the  rare 
gift  of  conceiving  and  representing 
human  character. 

—    28    — 


II. 

THE    ELEMENTS    OF 
JAPANESE  DRAMA. 


|P  to  this  very  day  many 
Japanese  nobles  feel  a 
certain  repulsion  for  the 
theatre.  And  certainly  the  drama 
does  not  hold  the  position  it  enjoys 
in  Europe.  This  may  also  account 
for  the  fact  that  no  great  classic 
playwright  such  as  Moliere  or 
Shakespeare  was  ever  known  in 
Japan.  Still,  theatre-going  is  a 
favourite  amusement,  especially 
among  the  lower  classes  in  the 
large  towns  ;  while  persons  of  rank 
prefer  to  engage  actors  and  have 
the  plays  performed  in  private  at 

—    29    — 


THE   ELEMENTS 


home.  The  Mikado  has  a  court 
theatre.  Generally  speaking,  it  is 
not  fashionable  nowadays  to  go  to  a 
public  theatre,  nor  has  it  ever  been 
fashionable  except  in  the  GTENROKHU- 
era,  when  noblemen  not  only  visited 
the  theatres,  but  even  seem  to  have 
taken  part  in  the  performances  of 
the  musical  dramas  called  no,  which 
mostly  treat  of  patriotic  legends. 


The  elements  of  the  Japanese 
drama  are  music,  song  and  dance, 
besides  legendary  or  historical 
narrative  and  pantomime.  All 
these  elements  are  purely  native. 
But  apart  from  these  elements  the 
theatre  is  clearly  to  be  regarded  as 
a  Chinese  importation.  Nor  has  it 
attempted  to  emancipate  itself  from 
the  conventional  Chinese  types. 
Yet  there  is  one  difference  between 
Chinese  and  Japanese  drama.  The 

—   30   — 


OF   JAPANESE    DRAMA. 

Chinese  drama  can  never  claim 
to  be  regarded  as  really  poetic, 
not  even  in  its  diction,  although  its 
phraseology  is  full  of  metaphorical 
niceties  and  abounds  in  poetic 
ornament ;  while  the  Japanese 
drama,  like  the  Indian,  is  full  of 
true  poetry.  There  exists  a  drama 
"  Iki  -  utsushi  Asagao  -  nikki " 
("  Asagao's  true  history  "),  a  post- 
humous work  of  the  poet  YAMAVA 
KAKASHI,  edited  by  SUISHO  EN 
SHUJIN,  which  is  in  parts  as  much 
bathed  in  poetry  as  Kalidasa's 
"  Urvasi"  and  the  maiden  Miyuki 
is  as  tender  and  charming  a  creature 
as  her  celebrated  Indian  sister 
Sakuntala.  What  does  this  prove  ? 
That  Chinese  influence  may  have 
given  new  notions  to  the  Japanese, 
who  are  indeed  the  most  adaptable 
race  on  earth,  but  that  it  has  been 
unable  to  modify  deeply  the  normal 
evolution  of  the  Japanese  soul. 


THE   ELEMENTS 


I  have  stated  music  and  dance  to 
be  elements  of  the  Japanese  theatre. 
I  am  not  sure  whether  music  is  an 
adequate  word.  The  Japanese  seems 
to  me  to  have  no  tune  at  all.  There 
are  scales,  but  the  intervals  are 
shocking  to  our  ears.  This  is  the 
major  scale  : 

Kiu,     sho,     kaku,     tchi,     yu. 
C,       D,        F,         G,      A. 

and  this  the  minor  scale  : 

Kiu,  hensho,  kaku,  tchi,  henyu. 
C,     Dflat,      F,       G,     Aflat. 

This  alone  would  suffice  to  give  to 
the  melodic  phrase  a  weird,  strange 
colour.  But  there  is  something 
else,  I  cannot  say  what,  which 
renders  their  musical  language 
unintelligible  to  our  ears.  They 
have  in  all  their  art  a  certain  liking 
for  the  vague,  the  undetermined, 
the  ambiguous.  In  music  they 
attain  it  by  finishing  generally  on 
the  dominant  instead  of  the  tonic  as 

—   32   — 


OF   JAPANESE    DRAMA. 

we  do.  A  child  striking  only  the 
black  keys  of  a  piano,  and  that  in 
a  highly  unmusical  fashion,  would 
give  us  something  resembling 
Japanese  music.  It  is  for  our 
ears  an  altogether  discordant  and 
unpleasant  thing.  This  music,  with 
its  slow  movements,  is  at  the  same 
time  primitive  and  refined,  it  never 
tries  to  please  the  ear,  but  strives 
to  rouse  emotions  and  to  express 
powerfully  the  dramatic  sentiment. 
The  koto  is  an  instrument  con- 
sisting of  an  oblong  box  over  which 
thirteen  (in  former  times  six)  silk 
strings  are  stretched.  It  is  played 
with  ivory  finger  tips  and  forms  the 
fundamental  part  of  the  Japanese 
orchestra.  The  kotos  are,  with  the 
fouyes  (flutes),  the  only  instru- 
ments of  Japanese  origin.  All  the 
others  have  been  imported  from 
China.  There  is  the  shamicenn,  a 
sort  of  three -stringed  guitar  with 

—   33    — 


THE    ELEMENTS 


a  long  neck,  a  very  popular  instru- 
ment, the  strings  of  which  are 
struck  by  an  ivory  or  bamboo  quill  ; 
the  biwa,  a  guitar  with  four  strings  ; 
the  djin-daiko,  a  drum,  used  in  battle 
music  ;  bells  and  big  drums.  Alto- 
gether there  exist  two  kinds  of 
flageolet,  a  vertical  harp  and  a  hori- 
zontal one,  two  kinds  of  guitar,  a 
cymbal,  a  species  of  harmonica,  an 
oboe,  a  species  of  pandean  pipe, 
several  kinds  of  flute,  and  five 
kinds  of  drum.  A  Japanese  band 
is  sometimes  composed  of  a  great 
number  of  musicians.  As  early  as 
in  the  year  453  A.D.  there  was  at  the 
burial  of  the  Emperor  Ingyo  an 
orchestra  of  80  musicians  playing 
a  dirge. 

The  second  element  of  the 
Japanese  theatre  is  dance.  In  old 
times  dance  seems  to  have  been  a 
religious  ceremony,  as  we  may  still 
find  it  among  some  savage  tribes. 

—   34   — 


OF   JAPANESE   DRAMA. 

We  know  that  once  a  year  virgins 
danced  before  the  shrine  of  Tensho 
Daijin  (the  Sun-goddess)  in  order 
to  lure  her  from  her  sacred  place. 
Even  this  first  and  oldest  dance 
contains  a  dramatic  idea,  an  embryo 
of  a  dramatic  action  ;  while  the 
hayatomai  (warrior  dance)  was 
somewhat  in  the  style  of  a  diver- 
tissement. At  the  same  time  there 
appeared  also  dances  symbolising, 
as  in  all  countries,  the  relations  of 
the  sexes. 

Singing,  dancing,  and  composing 
went  on  hand  in  hand.  Every  new 
achievement  in  the  one  art  added 
something  to  the  other  two — 
especially  as  imperial  progresses, 
public  feasts,  religious  ceremonies, 
and  private  entertainments  were  all 
occasions  for  playing  instruments 
and  dancing.  Some  of  these  old 
dances  are  still  executed  in  our 
time.  I  have  seen  a  dance  called 

—   35    — 


THE   ELEMENTS 


tamabatu  performed  by  tiny  little 
girls,  six  to  eight  years  old,  which 
forms  one  of  the  most  charming 
sights  one  can  imagine.  They 
wore  rich  satin  robes  with  long 
sleeves,  and  broad  belts  embroidered 
with  gold  and  claret  colour  designs. 
They  had  high  coiffures  with  silver 
pins  and  tortoiseshell  ornaments, 
and  purple  socks.  While  dancing 
they  played  small  drums  with 
gilt  frame  and  a  silken  cord,  and 
the  drumsticks  were  lacquered. 

Dancing  was  not'  only  confined 
to  women  and  girls,  there  were 
also  men,  and  even  old  men,  who 
used  to  perform  dances.  One,  for 
instance,  was  usually  executed  by 
old  merchants.  The  principal 
occasion  for  all  such  kinds  of 
enjoyment  were  the  matsuri,  annual 
festivities  held  in  honour  of  the 
birthday  of  some  god,  each  town 
having  its  own  tutelary  deity. 

—   36   — 


OF   JAPANESE    DRAMA. 

These  public  entertainments  seem 
to  have  begun  as  far  back  as 
650  B.C.  One  dance,  the  kagura,  a 
kind  of  hieratic  pantomime,  accom- 
panied by  a  slow  weird  music, 
deserves  special  mention,  because 
it  is  one  step  nearer  to  the  drama, 
and  because  stages  were  first  built 
for  its  performance. 

Not  all  these  dances  were  of  a 
noble  character  ;  some,  called  rika, 
were  accompanied  by  rather  vulgar 
street- songs  ;  others,  the  zokuyo  by 
popular  ballads.  Of  these  popular 
amusements  the  most  favourite  was 
the  sarugaku  or  monkey  mime,  the 
name  of  which  sufficiently  describes 
its  nature.  Its  rival  was  the 
dengaku  or  bucolic  mime,  for  the 
performance  of  which  masks  were 
worn,  and  which  was  at  one  time 
greatly  encouraged  by  the  legis- 
lators. The  dengaku  then  assumed 
a  splendour,  a  pomp,  a  magnificence 

—   37   — 


THE   ELEMENTS 
OF   JAPANESE    DRAMA. 

of  costume  not  previously  known 
nor  imagined.  Nevertheless,  the 
sarugaku  superseded  the  dengaku, 
and  by  degrees  became  the  no. 
Curiously,  and  although  having  its 
origin  in  the  popular  monkey 
mime,  the  no  is  the  aristocratic 
form  of  the  oldest  drama. 


III. 

EARLY  TRAGEDY  AND 
COMEDY. 


HAVE  said  that  the  dances 

-  j 
were   always  accompanied 

by  song.  At  first  these 
songs  were  purely  lyric  or  descrip- 
tive. But  gradually  they  became 
recitatives  having  generally  a  sacred 
or  legendary  text.  On  one  side  of 
the  platform  sat  a  singer,  who 
accompanied  himself  on  the  shami- 
cenn  and  who  narrated  some  well- 
known  marvellous  or  romantic  story 
frOm  the  early  times.  Soon,  when 
such  a  recitative  contained  a  speech 

—   39   — 


EARLY   TRAGEDY 


in  direct  narrative,  it  became  the 
custom  for  one  of  the  dancers  to 
deliver  it.  And  dialogue  being  the 
the  next  step,  the  drama  was 
created.  Such  drama  was  called  no. 
Its  subjects  were  always  noble  and 
avoided  the  "  vulgar  acts  of  life." 
Therefore  actors  must  not  make 
love  in  public,  nor  eat  or  drink, 
nor  sleep,  nor  die.  However,  only 
natural  death  was  considered  a 
"  vulgar  act,"  but  not  a  murder,  an 
execution,  or,  above  all,  a  harakiri. 
One  of  the  favourite  themes  of 
the  no  was  what  I  should  like  to 
call  the  Japanese  Philemon  and 
Baucis.  The  recitative  singer  had 
a  fine  part,  describing  the  beauties 
of  the  landscape  where  the  old 
couple  lived  and  telling  of  their 
feelings.  The  old  people  also  had 
nice  things  to  say  :  "  Do  you 
remember  this  ? "  or  :  "  At  such 
time  we  did  that  ! "  There  was 

—    40   — 


AND    COMEDY. 


also  generally  a  part  for  a  benevo- 
lent spirit  ;  while  the  Chorus 
appeared  then  as  herons  with  hand- 
some feathers,  or  as  silvery  salmons, 
or  preferably  as  flowers.  This  latter 
costume  was  at  all  times  much 
patronised,  and  in  the  seventh  cen- 
tury flower  festivals  were  much  in 
fashion.  At  these  utagaki,  as  they 
were  called,  one  could  see  girls 
representing  peach-blossom,  plum- 
blossom,  apple-blossom,  iris,  lotus, 
dancing  through  the  streets,  while 
other  maidens  dressed  simply  in 
blue  silk  robes  with  red  girdles  sang 
graceful  stanzas  to  the  sound  of  the 
shamicenn. 

The  monologue  was  banned  from 
the  no  except  in  the  first  scene  of  the 
play.  After  the  reciter  had  given 
in  an  introductory  stanza  a  short 
description  of  where  the  action 
was  to  take  place  (for  there  was 
mostly  no  scenery),  the  principal 

—   41    — 


EARLY   TRAGEDY 


character  used  to  enter  with  the 
words  :  "  My  name  is  so  and  so, 
my  father  has  this  occupation,  my 
brother  that,  and  such  are  the 
circumstances  which  obliged  me  to 
come  here."  The  exposition  being 
thus  terminated,  the  action  went  on, 
frequently  interrupted  by  remarks 
of  the  reciter,  as  for  instance  : 
"  Look,  look  at  him  .  .  .  Scorn 
fills  his  noble  heart  .  .  .  Now 
he  touches  the  handle  of  his  sword 
.  .  .  He  will  draw  it,  he  will  kill 
his  enemy  .  .  .  But  no  !  He 
masters  his  wrath  and  he  goes  out, 
banging  the  door."  In  one  word  : 
the  reciter  explains  things  which 
we  are  used,  in  occidental  theatres, 
to  see  performed — except  in  opera, 
where  sometimes  our  chorus 
assumes  a  part  resembling  that  of 
the  Japanese  reciter.  But  one  will 
already  have  noticed  that  there  is 
a  certain  similarity  between  our 

—   42    — 


AND    COMEDY. 


opera  and  Japanese  drama — with 
that  one  difference,  however,  that 
the  Japanese  actor  is  an  admirable 
performer,  while  our  operatic 
singer  .  .  .  but  it  is  not  on  the 
occidental  theatre  that  I  write. 

The  old  form  of  the  no  still 
survives,  and  in  our  own  day  they 
are  performed  at  the  matsuri.  But 
of  course  tradition  which  has 
preserved  the  old  plays  has  also 
somewhat  altered  them.  Duty  in 
all  these  dramas  plays  a  great  part, 
and  the  stoicism  of  the  samurai 
(military  men)  has  often  been 
chosen  as  a  tragic  subject. 

Yoshimaza,  the  most  extravagant 
man  ever  born  in  Japan,  celebrated 
for  his  hobbies  (the  tea  cult,  the 
incense  cult,  the  landscape-garden 
cult,  the  art  cult),  was  also  a  most 
remarkable  patron  of  the  drama, 
and  a  dramatic  author,  SCAMI,  was 
his  protege.  But  one  of  the  best 

—    43    — 


EARLY   TRAGEDY 


of  these  dramatic  poets  was 
KWANZE  NOBUMITSU,  who  wrote 
the  celebrated  Ataka-no  (about 
1485),  of  which,  I  am  told,  there 
exists  an  English  translation. 

Of  course,  all  drama  could  not 
be  serious.  And  what  the  comedy 
is  to  our  occidental  theatre,  the 
kyogen  is  to  Japanese  drama.  It  is 
feasible  to  adapt  Japanese  tragedy 
to  our  European  taste,  but  any  such 
hope  is  impossible  if  one  considers 
a  kyogen.  Either  their  impropriety 
would  shock  European  delicacy,  or 
we  should  find  these  comedies 
utterly  childish.  I  cannot  give  an 
example  of  the  former  kind,  but  I 
may  tell  the  story  of  two  of  the 
childish  ones. 

1.  Three  men  undertake  a 
pilgrimage,  promising  not  to 
quarrel  during  the  journey.  After 
a  few  hours,  feeling  very  tired, 
they  take  a  rest.  And  while  the 


AND    COMEDY. 


one  is  asleep,  the  two  others  shave 
his  head.  Of  course,  when  he 
wakes  again,  he  quarrels.  So  he 
has  to  return  home.  But  he  will 
revenge  himself.  He  goes  to  the 
other  pilgrims'  wives,  and  tells 
them  that  their  husbands  have  met 
with  an  accident  and  are  dead. 
Thereupon  the  two  women,  as  a 
sign  of  mourning,  shave  their 
heads.  When  the  two  men  come 
home  from  their  pilgrimage  the 
third  one  awaits  them  and  tells 
them  the  same  story  :  The  wives 
have  met  with  a  fatal  accident ; 
and  he  shows  them  their  hair  to 
prove  it.  And  the  two  men  in  their 
turn  shave  their  heads  as  a  sign  of 
mourning.  Now  the  rascal  who  has 
made  all  this  shaving  mischief 
discloses  his  fraud  and  produces 
his  own  wife,  the  only  one  of  the 
lot  who  has  any  hair  on  her  head. 
But  when  he  wants  to  prove  it  and 

—   46    — 


EARLY   TRAGEDY 


touches  her  beautiful  coiffure,  it 
remains  in  his  hand  :  she  is  bald. 
.  .  .  Curtain. 

2.  The  other  kyogen  which  I 
may  tell  is  the  story  of  a  samurai 
(military  man),  who  is  endowed 
with  a  pretty  and  very  coquettish 
wife.  They  have  a  manservant, 
who  falls  in  love  with  the  lady. 
But  she  is  cruel,  for  there  is  another 
wooer.  One  day  the  samurai 
receives  an  order  to  go  to  war.  A 
great  parting  scene  ensues  between 
husband  and  wife.  In  reality  she 
is  glad,  because  she  foresees  a  few 
happy  days  with  her  lover,  but  for 
her  husband  she  pretends  great 
sorrow.  As  the  tears  will  not 
come  naturally,  she  dips  her  fingers 
from  time  to  time  into  a  basin  of 
water  and  places  a  few  drops  on 
her  cheeks.  This  the  manservant 
espies.  Approaching  the  lady,  he 
whispers  into  her  ear  :  "  Now,  be 


AND    COMEDY. 


sensible,  or  I  will  teach  you  a 
lesson  !  "  She  only  sneers  at  him. 
So  while  she  turns  her  back  he 
pours  some  ink  into  the  basin. 
And  when  she  next  marks  her  tears 
thev  are  black.  Tableau.  Curtain. 


IV. 

DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE 
DRAMA. 


ft  ROM  the  no  there  branched 

jlpfll     off  in  the  seventeenth  cen- 

£&>£ 

tury  a  more  lyrical  form 
of  drama,  called  the  djiururi.  But 
this  was  soon  superseded  by  a  new 
system,  the  kabuki,  or  psycho- 
logical drama,  the  evolution  of 
which  continues  up  to  our  time. 
It  is  this  form,  performed  originally 
in  the  shibai  (lawns)  which  interests 
us  most. 

In  1575  a  celebrated  and 
beautiful  dancer  called  O-KouMi 
visited  Kyoto.  Although  she  was 

—    49    — 


DEVELOPMENT 


not  leading  precisely  a  virtuous  life 
her  fame  was  so  great  that  she  was 
admitted  to  the  Imperial  palace. 
Virtue,  by  the  way,  has  never 
played  a  very  important  part  in 
Japan  with  women  who  had  other 
accomplishments  to  be  proud  of. 
The  beautiful  Aki,  who  became  the 
mistress  of  the  Emperor  Ichigo, 
had  hair  that  exceeded  her  stature 
by  ten  feet.  Tamabushi,  the 
mistress  of  the  Emperor  Uda,  was 
a  clever  dancer,  and  the  six 
celebrated  demi-mondaines  Sei, 
Murasaki,  Daino-Sanussi,  Koshi- 
kibu,  Izumi,  and  Udaisho  were 
all  brilliant  writers.  As  for 
O-KouMi,  she  was  exquisitely 
refined  in  all  her  ways,  her  manners 
were  restful  yet  winsome,  her  con- 
versation was  a  piquant  mixture  of 
feminine  inconsequence  and  spark- 
ling repartee.  Already  as  an 
odori-ko  (dancing  child)  she  had 

—   50   — 


OF   THE    DRAMA. 


known  how  to  fascinate  everybody 
by  the  gentle  rhythmical  grace  of 
her  movements  and  her  demure 
looks.  When  she  arrived  at  Kyoto, 
the  whole  town  soon  talked  of  the 
inexhaustible  list  of  her  accom- 
plishments, of  her  art,  and  of  her 
costumes  which  were  chef  cCceuvres 
of  decorative  skill.  No  wonder 

that  manv  men  fell  in   love  with 

./ 

her.  Amongst  them  was  NAGOYA 
SANZAEMON,  the  superintendent  of 
the  court  festivities.  It  seems 
that  it  was  she  who  had  the 
idea  of  opening  a  popular  theatre, 
of  which  SANZAEMON  was  to  be 
the  manager  and  she  the  star. 
The  performances  took  place  on 
some  grassy  land,  and  to  this  day 
the  name  of  shibai  is  given  to  the 
Japanese  theatre,  although  as  early 
as  1624  SAKUWAKA  KANZABURO  had 
built  the  first  regular  theatre  in 
Yeddo.  The  plays  produced  were 

_   51   __ 


DEVELOPMENT 


called  performances  (ki)  of  song 
(ka)  and  dance  (bu\  and  thus  the 
denomination  kabuki  was  formed. 
The  success  was  prodigious. 
Unfortunately,  very  soon  numerous 
ft  lies  de  joie  took  to  the  profession. 
By  and  by  actors  came  to  be  con- 
sidered as  outcasts,  and  it  became 
so  difficult  for  them  to  secure 
permission  to  play  in  the  public 
gardens  and  squares  that  they  had 
to  be  satisfied  with  the  beds  of  the 
rivers,  when  in  summer  they  were 
dried  up  ;  whence  the  name  kawar- 
a-monOj  river-bed  folk,  which  for 
a  long  time  designated  actors. 
Finally,  in  1643,  a  law  was  made 
by  which  it  was  forbidden  to 
women  to  take  part  in  theatrical 
performances.  It  was  therefore 
very  fortunate  that  Japanese 
costume  made  it  possible  for  men 
to  play  women's  parts  without 
spoiling  the  performances.  Now- 

—   52    — 


OF   THE    DRAMA. 


adays  this  edict  is  no  longer 
enforced,  but  the  custom  still 
prevails.  It  is  unusual  to  see  an 
actress  in  Japan,  although  I  must 
add  that  there  exists  in  Tokyo  a 
theatre  where  all  parts  are  played 
by  women.  The  interdict  of  1643 
proved,  however,  to  be  an  oppor- 
tunity for  the  actor  and  skilled 
musician  GENZAEMON,  who  made 
a  great  reputation  by  playing 
female  parts. 

The  law  of  1643  was  not  the 
only  instance  of  trouble  arising 
between  the  legislators  and  the 
theatre.  At  one  time  it  became 
exceedingly  fashionable  to  deliver 
in  private  circles  the  recitatives 
called  naga-uta,  which  are  con- 
sidered as  one  of  the  chief 
ornaments  of  Japanese  drama. 
Young  girls,  especially  merchants' 
daughters,  began  to  sing  them  to 
friends  in  special  reunions  which, 

—   53   — 


DEVELOPMENT 


by  and  by,  gave  interesting  matter 
to  the  chronique  scandaleuse.  So 
in  1805  these  "at  homes,"  and 
particularly  the  singing  of  the 
recitatives,  were  forbidden  to  the 
young  ladies  who,  by  acting  thus, 
had  "  reduced  themselves  to  the 
level  of  rogues  and  vagabonds." 

Another  time,  when  the  Toku- 
gawa  legislators  were  greatly 
concerned  about  the  immorality 
of  the  theatre,  they  promulgated 
a  law  that  no  theatre  was  to  be 
more  than  two  storeys  high. 
There  had  been  built  first  at  Osaka 
and  Kyoto,  and  then  at  Yeddo, 
theatres  three  storeys  high,  with 
rooms  in  the  top  storey  for 
debauches  of  various  kinds,  and 
with  secret  passages  leading  from 
there  to  the  manager's  office.  It 
was  said  that  ladies,  experiencing 
during  the  performances  a  sudden 
fancy  for  one  or  the  other  actor, 

—    54    — 


OF   THE    DRAMA. 


used,  at  the  end  of  the  play,  to  go 
to  the  manager  and  to  make  terms 
with  him  for  the  cession  of  the 
contemplated  actor  for  an  hour  or 
so,  the  manager  and  his  employee 
sharing  the  profits  thus  realised. 
This  scandalous  state  of  things  was 
abolished  and  henceforth  theatres 
had  but  two  storeys,  and  the  j/ose, 
plain,  comfortless  music  halls,  only 
one. 


V. 

THE    CLASSICAL    PERIOD.- 

TAKEDA     IZUMO     AND     HIS 

"  PINE-TREE." 


||prfj|8HE  Japanese  consider  as 
JWJww  their  greatest  playwright 

TSIKAMATSU        MONZAEMON 

(16.53-1734)  who  wrote  not  less 
than  74  historic  dramas  and  37 
drames  de  mceurs.  He  has  been 
called  the  Japanese  Sophocles  and 
the  Japanese  Shakespeare.  There 
is  always  something  vexatious  in 
comparisons  of  this  kind,  although 
such  title  might  perhaps  not  be 
intended  as  anything  more  than  a 
synonym  for  poetic  pre-eminence. 
But  I  have  already  given  the 
reasons  why  there  never  was  a 
really  great  popular  dramatic 

—    57    — 


THE   CLASSICAL   PERIOD. 

author  in  Japan.  Indeed,  there  is 
nothing  to  be  found  in  TSIKAMATSU 
MONZAEMON  like  the  ever -fresh 
blossoms  from  the  inexhaustible 
garden  of  a  Sophocles  or  a 
Shakespeare.  However,  one  may 
say  that  the  skilful  construction  of 
TSIKAMATSU'S  plays  recalls  that  of 
Sophocles,  and  that  the  secret  of 
this  skill  depends  largely  on  the 
profound  way  in  which  he  conceives 
the  central  situation  in  each  of  his 
fables.  Again,  to  have  understood 
how  nearly  burlesque  and  tragedy 
are  related,  and  to  have  interwoven 
his  dramas  with  clowneries,  might 
be  called  Shakespearean.  But  the 
absolute  finish,  the  superlative 
degree  of  harmony  which  we  find 
in  Sophocles  and  Shakespeare  will 
be  sought  for  in  vain  in  the  great 
Japanese.  And  this  judgment 
holds  also  good  for  his  numerous 
successors.  They  are  all  exceed- 

—    58    — 


THE   CLASSICAL   PERIOD. 

ingly  clever,  they  know  how  to 
unfold  their  plots  by  subtle  grada- 
tions, and  how  to  carry  the  hearer 
onward,  steadily  and  swiftly,  and 
how  to  give  a  feeling  of  impending 
catastrophe,  but  their  work  is  never 
so  completely  alive  as  that  of 
Sophocles  or  Shakespeare,  never 
such  an  organic  whole.  Amongst 
these  contemporaries  and  succes- 
sors of  TSIKAMATSU  we  may  name 
TAKEMOTO  TSIKONGO  who  wrote 
90  plays,  and  NAMIKI  SOSUKE  (who 
died  in  1745)  author  of  the  cele- 
brated drama  "  Itchinotani  futaba 
gunki  "  (Reminiscences  of  the  first 
campaign  of  two  young  men  at  the 
assault  of  Itchinotani).  This  bril- 
liant piece  of  work  was  completed 
by  his  five  disciples  ASSADA  ITCHIO, 
NAMIOKA  KEIJI,  NAMIKI  CIOZA, 
MAMBA  SANSO,  and  TAJOTUKE 
GENROKHU  ;  it  was  published  in 
1752,  seven  years  after  the 

—    59    — 


THE   CLASSICAL   PERIOD. 

master's  death. — 1  must  also  name 
TSIKAMATSU  HAIGKI,  the  author  of 
the  drama  "  Uta-dai-mon  "  (1780) 
and  TAKEDA  IZUMO,  this  last  author 
being  probably  the  one  whose  art 
appeals  most  to  occidental  feeling. 
TAKEDA  IZUMO  was  born  in  1688. 
In  1713,  when  he  was  25,  he 
opened,  together  with  his  friend 
TSIKAMATSU  MONZAEMON,  a  marion- 
ette theatre  which  became  famous 
very  quickly  for  the  quality  of  the 
plays  performed  there  and  for  the 
magnificence  of  the  costumes, 
which  were  imitated  in  all  theatres. 
I  have  already  mentioned  at  the 
beginning  of  this  chapter  the  high 
esteem  in  which  the  Japanese  hold 
TSIKAMATSU  That  he  was  a  very 
talented  and  able  man  is  further 
proved  by  his  renowned  historical 
novel  "  A  vassal's  loyalty,"  which 
is  not  only  famous  in  Japan,  but 
has  also  been  translated  into 

—   60   — 


THE    CLASSICAL   PERIOD. 

European  languages.  But  it  seems 
to  me  that  the  dramatic  genius  of 
the  partnership  was  TAKEDA  IZUMO. 
One  of  their  most  illustrious 
marionette  plays  was  "  Kokusen-ya, 
the  Pirate  king  "  ;  and  the  success 
of  this  was  perhaps  surpassed  by 
the  play  "  The  vendetta  of  the 
47  ronin"  which  was  first  per- 
formed in  1748,  fourteen  years 
after  TSIKAMATSU'S  death.* 

But  in  the  meantime  TAKEDA 
IZUMO  had  also  written  plays  for 
the  ordinary  theatre,  and  of  these 

*  TSIKAMATSU  MONZAEMON  had  produced 
in  1706  a  tragedy  called  "Goban  Taiheiki," 
based  on  the  story  of  the  47  ronin.  Shortly 
before  his  death  he  proposed  to  TAKEDA 
IZUMO  to  write  a  play  on  the  same  subject 
for  the  marionette  theatre,  and  they  sketched 
it  together.  On  this  plan  it  was  written  by 
TAKEDA  IZUMO,  together  with  MIYOSHI 
SHOEAKU  and  NAMIKI  SENKYU.  It  is  known 
under  the  title  "  Chushingura, "  or  "The 
loyal  retainers  of  Akao."  There  exists  an 
incomplete  English  translation  in  prose  by 
Jukishi  Inonye. 

—    61    — 


TAKEDA    IZUMO 


the  historical  tragedy  "  Sugawara 
den j on  tenarai  kagami "  (a  rather, 
fantastical  title  that  means  "  Mirror 
of  calligraphy  after  the  chancellor 
Sugawara's  tradition  ")  is  not  only 
the  most  celebrated,  but  probably 
the  most  extolled  of  all  Japanese 
dramas.  It  was  written  by  TAKEDA 
IZUMO  together  with  his  three 
friends  MIYOSHI  SHOEAKU  (1693- 
1773  ?),  NAMIKI  SENEYU  (1693- 
1749),  and  KOIZUMO,  and  first 
performed  in  1746,  ten  years  before 
TAKEDA  IZUMO'S  death. 

Japanese  plays  have  generally 
from  twelve  to  twenty  acts,  and 
their  performance  takes  a  whole 
day,  from  the  hour  of  the  hare  to 
the  hour  of  the  monkey,  viz. : 
from  6  o'clock  in  the  morning  to 
6  o'clock  in  the  evening.  Such  is 
also  the  length  of  the  "Sugawara" 
tragedy.  But  it  is  not  always 
performed  in  full.  Generally  one 

—   62   — 


AND    HIS   "PINE-TREE." 

single  act  of  this  play  is  given. 
This  act,  which  was  written  by 
TAKEDA  IZUMO  alone,  the  most 
luminous  part  of  the  whole,  is 
called  "  Matsu"  "  The  pine-tree."* 

One  thing  is  certain — namely, 
that  the  "Pine-tree"  well  presented 
never  fails  to  make  a  deep  impres- 
sion, even  on  Europeans  who  by 
chance  are  present  at  a  per- 
formance. True,  the  act  of  self 
sacrifice  is  so  exaggerated  that  it 
may  offend  our  more  delicate 
feelings  ;  but  the  action  is  so 
tragic,  the  characters  are  so  heroic, 
that  we  cannot  but  admire. 

The  author  seems  to  have  drawn 
from  two  sources.  In  the  year 
459  A.D.  the  Emperor  Seinei 
ascended  the  throne.  He  perpe- 
trated a  wholesale  murder  of  his 
own  brothers,  their  children,  and 

*  Also  known  under  the  title  "  Terakoya," 
"  The  Village  School." 

—    63    —  B 


TAKEDA   IZUMO 


other  members  of  the  Imperial 
family.  The  whole  Imperial  line 
would  have  become  extinct  had  not 
a  child  been  secreted  and  reduced 
to  the  position  of  a  serf  in  order 
to  escape  the  quest  of  the  official 
assassins. 

This  seems  to  have  been  the 
original  story  which  inspired  the 
poet.  But,  firstly,  he  could  not 
possibly  put  an  Emperor  himself 
on  the  stage.  For  in  these  days 
the  divinity  that  hedged  a  Mikado 
was  such  that  no  common  eye  ever 
beheld  him,  especially  not  on  the 
stage  of  a  theatre.  And,  secondly, 
the  Emperors  were  nearly  mythical 
beings  who  mostly  had  no  authority 
at  all.  The  chancellors  were  the 
real  regents,  and  it  was  to  the 
chancellors  that  vassals  were  loyal 
or  faithless.  The  author  had 
therefore  to  look  for  a  chancellor 
to  whom  the  anecdote  of  the  saved 

—   64   — 


AND    HIS   "PINE-TREE." 

child  could  apply.  And  his  choice 
fell  on  the  story  of  the  chancellor 
Sugawara.  —  Sugawara  -  no  -  Michi- 
zane  belonged  to  an  ancient  family 
of  professional  litterateurs.  He 
had  a  high  reputation  as  a  calli- 
graphist  and  scholar,  and  lived  in  a 
time  when  it  was  possible  to 
become  a  prime  minister  by  writing 
nicely  a  stanza  on  a  theme  given  by 
the  Mikado  ;  and  this  is  exactly 
how  Sugawara  succeeded.  He 
was,  however,  not  fitted  to  cope 
with  the  immense  difficulties  of 
statesmanship.  Besides,  he  had  to 
struggle  against  a  complicated 
situation.  On  the  one  hand  there 
was  the  Emperor  Uda  who, 
although  he  had  abdicated,  still 
tried  to  take  a  prominent  part  in 
the  administration  ;  on  the  other 
hand,  Sugawara  had  to  suffer  from 
the  jealousy  of  the  Fujiwara  repre- 
sentative Takihira,  a  highly-gifted 

—   65   — 


TAKEDA   IZUMO 


but  impetuous  and  arrogant  young 
nobleman.  Sugawara-no-Michizane, 
accused  of  conspiring  to  obtain  the 
throne  for  his  grandson  (an 
Imperial  prince  having  married  his 
daughter),  was  banished  to  Dazaifu. 
His  family  and  friends  were  all 
killed  or  reduced  to  serfdom,  and 
he  died  in  the  following  year  (903). 
After  his  death  all  sort  of  mishaps 
befell  his  adversaries,  and  the  super- 
stition considered  this  ill-luck  as  a 
manifestation  of  his  revengeful 
spirit.  Finally,  he  was  placed  among 
the  gods,  and  he  became  Tenjin,  the 
god  of  calligraphy. 

In  the  play,  Sugawara-no-Michi- 
zane had  among  his  servants  a 
farmer  named  Shiratayu,  whom 
his  master  treated  with  great 
benevolence.  Sugawara-no-Michi- 
zane possessed  three  trees  of  which 
he  was  particularly  fond,  a  plum- 
tree  (ume),  a  cherry-tree  (sakura) 

—   66   — 


AND   HIS   "PINE-TREE." 

and  a  pine-tree  (matsu).  Of  these 
trees  the  farmer  Shiratayu  had  to 
take  care. 

One  day  Shiratayu  became  father 
of  triplets,  and  the  chancellor  con- 
sented to  be  their  godfather.  He 
named  them  after  his  favourite 
trees  :  Umeo,  Sakuramaru,  and 
Matsuo. 

When  the  three  boys  were  grown 
up  the  first  two  took  service  with 
their  godfather,  who,  after  some 
time,  made  them  samurai  (military 
men) — while  the  third  one,  Matsuo, 
was  placed  with  the  chancellor's 
mighty  adversary,  the  Firjiwara 
Tokihira,  who  in  the  play  is  also 
called  Shihei. 

Now  follows  the  political  struggle 
between  Saguwara  -  no  -  Michizane 
and  Tokihira,  leading  to  the  whole- 
sale murder  of  the  chancellor's 
followers  and  his  own  banishment. 
But  Ganzo,  a  former  vassal  and 

—    67    — 


TAKEDA   IZUMO 


samurai  in  his  service,  decides  that 
he  will  save  Shusai,  his  master's 
youngest  son.  He  retires  with  him 
to  Seryo,  a  small  village,  passing 
off  the  boy  as  his  own  son.  Having 
learned  from  the  chancellor  the 
art  of  calligraphy,  Ganzo  opens  a 
school  in  the  village,  where  the 
action  continues. 

Of  Sugawara  -  no  -  Michizane's 
three  godsons  Umeo  followed  him 
into  banishment,  Sakumaru  was 
killed  in  defending  his  master's 
cause,  while  Matsuo  remained  in 
his  adversary's  service.  The  fallen 
chancellor  suffered  greatly  from 
Matsuo's  behaviour  and  expressed 
his  sorrow  in  the  celebrated  verses  : 

"  The    plum  -  tree   follows     me 

through  the  air, 
Withered  and  dried  is  the 

cherry-tree. 
Should   then   the  pine-tree  so 

lofty  and  fair 
Alone    be    heartless     and 

faithless  to  me  ?  " 

—   68   — 


AND    HIS   "PINE-TREE." 

the  hint  in  these  verses  being  clear 
enough.  But  the  "  pine-tree  "  was 
not  "  faithless,"  and  the  subsequent 
scenes  show  how  Matsuo  remained 
loyal. 

The  choice  of  the  theme  is 
characteristic,  for  against  a  back- 
ground of  truly  Japanese  treachery 
and  cruelty  we  see  an  act  of 
uncompromising  fidelity  to  the 
cause  of  the  liege-lord  no  less  truly 
Japanese,  a  fidelity  that  grudges  no 
sacrifice,  however  immense,  how- 
ever bitter  it  may  be. 


VI. 
THEATRICAL   CUSTOMS. 


the   second   part    of   this 

-a 

little  volume  the  reader  will 
find  an  adaptation  of  the 
"  Pine-tree  " — a  free  adaptation, 
let  it  be  well  understood,  not  a 
translation.  Some  of  the  scenic 
indications  will  not  he  found  at  all 
in  the  original,  others  only  as 
recitatives  called  ji  or  chobo,  while 
I  have  omitted  some  other  recita- 
tives which  I  thought  useless. 
These  recitatives,  which  give  to  the 
Japanese  plays  a  character  partly 
epic,  partly  dramatic,  are  so 
unusual  for  Europeans  that  their 
effect  would  have  been  absolutely 
disturbing.  As  the  "  Pine-tree  "  is 

—   71   — 


THEATRICAL 


presented  here  I  think  it  might  be 
performed  before  an  occidental 
public.  In  view  of  such  an  even- 
tuality, I  have  written  the  names  as 
phonetically  as  possible  (for 
instance  :  Tokeeheera,  Shoozigh),  in 
order  to  avoid  a  different  pronun- 
ciation by  each  of  the  actors,  such 
as  we  sometimes  hear  on  our  own 
stage  in  other  foreign  plays. 

I  am  sure  that,  should  some 
manager  try  and  present  the 
"  Pine-tree,"  he  will  not  fail  in 
greatly  impressing  the  public.  In 
Japan  it  is  always  successful,  but 
few  things  performed  on  a  stage 
can  be  compared  to  what  the 
"  Pine-tree "  was  with  ICHIKAWA 
DANJURO,  Japan's  greatest  actor,  as 
Matsuo,  and  with  ONOJE  KIKUBOGO, 
who  was  second  only  to  DANJURO, 
as  Ganzo.  Like  all  Japanese  actors, 
they  were  not  so  remarkable  for 
their  elocution  as  for  their  attitudes 

—   72   — 


CUSTOMS. 


and  movements.  To  give  an 
impressive  picture  of  real  life  is  the 
aim  of  the  Japanese  actor.  The 
great  art  consists  to  talk  not  so 
much  with  the  tongue  as  with  the 
body,  and  to  show  by  the  expres- 
sion of  the  face  not  only  simple 
passion,  but  also  the  subtle  shades 
of  sentiment.  It  is  obvious  that 
such  a  way  of  acting  leads  easily  to 
melodramatic  exaggerations  ;  it  is 
also  very  tiring  for  the  performers, 
and  this  may  be  considered  as  one 
more  reason  why  women  generally 
do  not  act. 

With  the  Japanese  the  art  of 
making  up  is  not  at  all  to  be  com- 
pared to  the  methods  of  our  Western 
actors.  Here,  again,  one  finds  much 
exaggeration,  and  a  story  is  told  of 
the  actor  YAMANAKA  HEIKURO,  who 
had  made  himself  a  head  of  a  devil 
so  hideous,  that  when  his  wife  saw 
him  she  died  of  fright  on  the  spot. 

—    73   — 


THEATRICAL 


The  characters  which  one  finds 
in  nearly  all  Japanese  dramas  are 
the  Aragotoshi  (a  hard  man),  the 
Djitsugotoshi  (a  faithful,  loyal 
man),  the  Wagotoshi  (a  young 
and  pleasant  man),  and  the 
Djitsuakushi  (a  bad  cruel  man). 

The  profession  of  an  actor  is 
even  nowadays  not  considered  as 
a  high  one,  although  one  would 
no  longer  think  of  treating  them 
as  "  rogues  and  vagabonds."  On 
the  average,  they  are  not  well  paid. 
Still  there  are  exceptions.  When 
a  play  is  staged  it  runs  at  least  for 
23  consecutive  days.  For  such 
a  term  a  first-class  man  like  ICHI- 
KAWA  DANJURO  would  earn  about 
2,500  yen  (£250),  and  his  annual 
income  may  be  estimated  at  15,000 
yen  (£1,500).  But  it  must  not  be 
forgotten  that  out  of  this  sum  he 
must  provide  his  own  costumes, 
and  costumes  are  no  trifle  in  Japan, 

—    74    — 


CUSTOMS. 


as  they  must  not  only  be  made  to 
suit  the  part,  but  also  the  character 
of  the  part. 

For  the  last  ten  years  or  so, 
Japan  has  been  under  the  influence 
of  a  fashion  that  had  given  a 
particular  stamp  to  the  country 
already  two  hundred  years  ago.  In 
the  windows  of  the  silk  merchants 
one  can  see  many  a  kimono  and  obi 
(sash)  made  of  a  material  of  such 
an  extraordinary  pattern  and  of 
such  bold  colours  that  they  attract 
the  eyes  of  the  passer-by,  irrespec- 
tive of  age  or  sex.  Purple  and  red, 
apricot  and  peach,  turquoise  blue 
and  malachite  green  are  united 
there  into  a  strange  and  wonderful 
bouquet,  which  has  the  particu- 
larity of  never  looking  vulgar, 
never  being  as  shrill  as  the  so-called 
"  real  Japanese  "  costumes  one  sees 
in  our  European  shops,  and  which 
the  poorest  girl  in  Tokyo  would 

—    75    — 


THEATRICAL 


not  dare  to  wear.  For  Japanese 
coloration  remains  artistic  even 
when  it  comes  near  the  limits  of 
the  permissible. 

I  think  the  secret  consists  in 
choosing  one  fundamental  tone 
which  alone  might  be  very  shrill, 
and  to  subdue  it  by  some  other 
softer  colour  ;  the  obi,  the  wide 
sash,  is  there  to  obtain  this  result. 
There  are  obis  so  beautiful  that  our 
Western  ladies  cannot  imagine 
their  value.  And  it  happens  that 
a  Japanese  beauty  spends  for  one 
single  obi  more  than  a  smart 
Parisienne  for  her  whole  toilette 
during  a  year. 

One  of  the  favourite  patterns  for 
the  obi  is  a  simple  chessboard  design 
made  in  black  and  gold,  or  blue  and 
gold,  or  red  and  gold,  and  so  on. 
But  if  you  chance  to  look  closely  at 
it  you  will  find,  on  costly  obis, 
a  different  design  in  each  of  the 

—    76   — 


CUSTOMS. 


squares — birds  or  flowers,  executed 
with  the  most  wonderful  delicacy. 
Other  kimonos  and  obis  have  very 
big  designs,  we  see  enormous 
wheels,  large  pine-branches,  fishes 
in  a  cascade,  bushes  and  deer,  or 
even  a  complete  miniature  garden, 
embroidered  with  incomparable  art. 

Now  what  makes  these  dresses 
so  exceedingly  costly,  is  the  fact 
that  there  are  generally  not  two 
alike,  and  that  many  of  them  have 
been  sketched  by  great  painters. 
In  the  Imperial  museum  at  Tokyo 
some  priceless  garments,  called 
kosode,  painted  by  KORIN  himself, 
are  preserved. 

Needless  to  say  that  on  the  stage 
only  imitations  of  these  precious 
garments  are  worn,  but  even  such 
imitations  are  sometimes  very 
expensive.  And  there  are  not  only 
the  dresses,  but  the  hairpins  and 
combs,  the  little  purses,  the  ribbons 

—    77    — 


THEATRICAL 


of  the  geta  (shoes  with  heels),  the 
tabi  (socks  with  a  separate  great 
toe).  These  tabi  are  very  important 
in  Japanese  costume,  and  are  made 
of  heavy  silk.  They  have  also 
rather  often  the  chessboard  design 
with  small  ornaments,  and  are 
usually  either  red  and  yellow,  or 
blue  and  yellow. 

Now,  if  the  costumes  are  always 
beautiful  and  sometimes  of  an 
extravagant  richness,  the  same 
cannot  be  said  of  the  scenery, 
which  is  always  meagre  and 
exiguous.  The  design  is  rough, 
primitive,  and  without  any  know- 
ledge of  the  laws  of  perspective. 
Indeed,  one  may  well  not  call  it 
a  scenery  at  all,  the  design  being, 
with  very  few  exceptions,  purely 
ornamental.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  front  of  the  theatre  is  generally 
painted  with  much  skill  and  fancy. 

There    are    many    little    things 

—    78    — 


CUSTOMS. 


which  surprise  the  European  visitor. 
To  begin  with,  the  surroundings 
of  the  theatre.  I  have  already 
mentioned  the  length  of  the  per- 
formances. And  although  there 
exists  now  a  theatre  where  only 
half -day  performances  (shintomi-zd) 
are  given,  food  and  refreshments 
must  be  provided  for  the  audience. 
Therefore,  one  generally  finds 
around  a  theatre  a  little  city  of 
tea-houses  and  restaurants. — The 
curtain  does  not  rise,  as  in  Europe, 
but  is  pulled  sideways,  and  one  can 
easily  see  the  attendants  who  are 
entrusted  with  this  work. — The 
orchestra  (hayashi)  is  hidden 
behind  the  scenery,  while  in  a  sort 
of  proscenium  box  the  reciter  sits, 
together  with  a  shamicenn  player, 
both  being  concealed  behind  a 
curtain  of  thin  bamboo. — There  is 
no  applause  by  clapping  hands  as 
in  our  theatres,  but  the  public 

—    79    —  F 


THEATRICAL 


stimulates  the  actors  by  exclama- 
tions, in  a  way  that  may  be  com- 
pared to  the  encouraging  and 
cheering  of  the  dancers  in  Spain. — 
From  the  "  Green  Room  "  a  bridge 
leads  to  the  platform.  This  bridge 
is  called  "  Flowerpath."  The 
"  Green  Room "  is  closed  by  a 
drapery,  which  the  actors  of  small 
parts  must  lift  for  themselves. 
When  the  performers  have  some 
importance  and  reputation  they 
have  an  attendant  for  the  purpose 
of  lifting  this  drapery.  But  the 
first  actors,  as  well  of  nogu  (drama) 
as  of  kyogen  (comedy),  have  the 
title  taiya,  which  confers  the  right 
to  two  assistants  to  hold  up  the 
curtain  of  the  "  Green  Room  "  for 
their  entries  and  exits. 

Besides  of  the  "  Flowerpath " 
there  is  also  an  underground  way 
permitting  the  actors  to  enter 
through  the  auditorium,  which  for 

—   80   — 


CUSTOMS. 


this  purpose  is  joined  with  the  plat- 
form by  a  bridge.  I  may  here 
remark  that  Max  Reinhardt,  when 
performing  "  La  belle  Helene  "  in 
Munich  and  Berlin,  "  borrowed " 
this  idea  from  the  Japanese,  and 
made  the  dramatis  personce  enter 
through  the  auditorium,  and,  exactly 
as  in  Japan,  they  began  talking 
while  still  walking  through  the 
rows  of  the  public.  Needless  to 
say,  that  the  German  Press  found 
Reinhardt' s  "  originality  "  simply 
kolossal. 

000 

In  concluding  this  very  incom- 
plete sketch,  I  wish  to  say  that  if 
the  Japanese  theatre  has  not  shared 
the  general  progress,  and  has 
remained  somewhat  stationary  for 
more  than  two  hundred  years,  it 
is  none  the  less  very  interesting. 
Although  it  may  not  in  its  long 
history  have  remained  absolutely 


THEATRICAL   CUSTOMS. 

free  from  foreign,  mainly  Chinese, 
influences,  it  is  a  national  art  which 
has  always  kept  the  marks  of  its 
origin,  and  is  in  no  way  unworthy 
of  the  splendid  nation  which  every 
day  we  learn  to  appreciate  more 
highly. 


THE    PINE-TREE 

(MATSU) 
A    DRAMA 

BY 

TAKEDA    IZUMO 


THE    PINE-TREE. 


MATSUO,  a  vassal  of  the  Fujiwara  chancellor 
Tokeeheera  (Shihei). 

MISTRESS  CHEEYO,  his  wife. 

KOTARO,  their  son  (eight  years). 

KWAN  SHOOZIGH,  son  of  the  former  chancellor 
Saguwara-no-Michizane  (eight  years). 

KWAN  SHOOZIGH'S  MOTHER,  the  former  chancellor's 
wife. 

GANZO,  a  vassal  and  pupil  of  the  former  chan- 
cellor, now  master  of  a  village  school. 

MISTRESS  TONARMEE,  his  wife. 

GEMBAH,  Tokeeheera's  chamberlain. 

SANZOOKEE,  Matsuo's  servant- man. 

SILLY,  a  boy  of  15, 

CHOMA,  a  boy  of  8, 

EWAMA,  a  boy  of  10,  \     GANZO'S  pupils. 

TOKUZAN,  a  boy  of  8, 

THREE  OTHER  BOYS, 

SOME  SOLDIERS,  under  Gembah's  command. 

SOME  PEASANTS. 

The  action  takes  place  in  the  year  902,  in  the  little  village  Seryo, 
in  the  class  room  of  Ganzo's  house  and  in  the  courtyard, 
which  one  can  see  when  the  principal  door  is  opened. 

—    85    — 


THE   PINE-TREE. 


(SHOOZIGH,  SILLY,  and  other  pupils  are  all  sitting  on  the  floor, 
having  each  one  a  small  desk  on  which  is  placed  a 
scribbling  book  and,  to  the  right,  a  box  with  Indian  ink, 
to  the  left,  a  little  box  with  books.  With  their  writing 
brushes  they  are  busy  doing  some  exercises  in  Japanese 
letters.  They  often  interrupt  their  work  and  are  rather 
noisy.  Most  of  them  have  their  fingers  stained  with  ink, 
some  even  their  faces.) 

SILLY. 

I  think  it  is  too  stupid  !  The  master  isn't  at 
home,  and  we  are  sitting  here  and  studying  ! 
(Raising  a  sheet  of  paper)  Look  !  Look  !  I  have 
painted  a  bonze  with  a  bald  head  ! 

(They  all   laugh,  most  of  them  get  up,  there  is  great 
noise.) 

SHOOZIGH 

(without  interrupting  his  work). 

Silly,  you  ought  to  do  something  better  than 
to  paint  such  wicked  images.  You're  the  biggest 
here,  and  unable  to  write  the  simplest  letters. 
Fie  !  What  a  shame  ! 

SILLY. 

Oh,  you  are  a  wise  one.  Behold  the  wise  one, 
the  cheeky  wise  one  ! 

—    86    — 


FIRST  BOY 

(hitting  Silly  with  his  ruler). 

You  are  not  to  insult  him,  Silly  ! 

SILLY 

(howling). 

Oh  !  oh  !  he  wants  to  kill  me  !     (Takes  his  ink 
and  pours  it  over  the  first  boy's  head.) 

SECOND  BOY. 

Big  fool  !     The  eldest  of  us,  and  starts  crying 
when  one  touches  him  ! 

THIRD  BOY. 

We'll  give  him  a  good  thrashing,  the  boaster. 

(They  attack  Silly  with  their  rulers  and  a  great,  noisy  battle 
ensues.) 


(Mistress  Tonarmee  comes  from  an  adjoining  room.) 

MISTRESS  TONARMEE. 

Aye  !  You  naughty  boys  !  You  are  fighting 
again  ?  Won't  you  keep  quiet  ?  Sit  down,  all 
of  you  !  Take  your  places,  and  work  !  The 
master  will  soon  be  back.  If  you  work  well, 
he'll  give  you  a  half  -holiday. 

—    87    — 


SOME  OF  THE  BOYS. 

Oh,  that's  fine  !  That's  splendid  !  We'll 
work  !  We'll  work  !  (They  all  settle  down  and  begin 
again  to  work,  reading  and  writing.  They  are  heard 
pronouncing  the  syllables  they  write  down:)  Ee-ro-ha- 
nee-ho-ha-to  .  .  . 


(Enter  MISTRESS  CHEEYO,  leading  her  boy  KOTAKO  by 
her  hand.  SANZOOKEE  follows  them  carrying  a  small 
desk,  a  box  with  books,  and  two  parcels.) 

SANZOOKEE 

(from  outside,  opening  the  door  a  little). 

Holloa  !     May  we  come  in  ? 

MISTRESS   TONARMEE. 

Please  !    Please  ! 

MISTRESS   CHEEYO 

(entering  with  Kotaro). 

You  are  very  kind.  (Curtseys  on  both  sides.)  I 
sent  a  messenger  this  morning  to  Mr.  Ganzo,  to 
ask  whether  he  could  receive  my  little  boy  as  a 
pupil.  Mr.  Ganzo  having  consented  very 
courteously,  I  thought  I  had  best  bring  the  child 
at  once.  Here  he  is. 


88 


MISTRESS  TONARMEE. 

Oh  !  Is  this  your  son  ?  He  is  welcome.  A 
pretty,  gentle  child. 

MISTRESS  CHEEYO. 

You  are  very  gracious.  I  hope  he  will  not 
prove  a  nuisance.  We  only  came  to  stay  in  this 
village  a  few  days  ago.  We  have  taken  lodgings 
quite  at  the  other  end.  I  was  much  pleased  to 
hear  that  you  have  a  boy  of  the  same  age.  Is  he 
one  of  these  ? 

MISTRESS   TONARMEE. 

Certainly.  It  is  this  one.  (To  Shoozigh)  Come 
here  and  greet  this  lady  .  .  .  (SHOOZIGH  comes  nearer 
and  bows  very  low  before  Mistress  Cheey5.)  Y  6S,  this  is 
Mr.  Ganzo's  son  and  heir. 

MISTRESS  CHEEYO 

(looking  alternately  at  the  faces  of  both  boys  as  if  to 
compare  them). 

What  a  beautiful,  lovely  child,  Mistress 
Ganzo  !  But  I  do  not  see  your  husband. 
Perhaps  he  is  absent  ? 


MISTRESS  TONARMEE. 

I  regret  to  say  he  is.  Early  this  morning 
he  was  invited  to  call  upon  the  mayor  for 
a  conference  and  a  festive  repast.  It  is  rather  a 
long  way,  and  it  may  still  be  some  time  ere  he 
returns.  But  if  you  wish  to  see  him,  I  will  at 
once  send  somebody  to  fetch  him. 

MISTRESS  CHEEYO. 

Oh,  no,  no  !  Do  not  trouble  yourself.  I  have 
an  errand  in  the  next  village,  business  of  all 
sorts ;  I  will  come  back  afterwards,  and  will 
then  certainly  find  Mr.  Ganzo  .  .  .  Holloa, 
Sanzookee  !  Give  me  these  things.  (SANZOOKEE 
gives  her  the  two  parcels.  The  first  one  is  wrapped  up  in 
a  white  paper  and  adorned  with  a  sign  of  remembrance. 
MISTRESS  CHEEYO  takes  it  and  places  it  politely  before 
Mistress  Tonarmee).  Will  you  be  good  enough  to 
accept  this  as  a  small  token  of  remembrance 
of  this  day  ? 

MISTRESS  TONARMEE 

(with  a  deep  curtsey). 

Oh  !  This  is  really  too  good  of  you,  really 
too  good  .  .  . 

—   90   — 


MISTRESS  CHEEYO. 

Do  not  mention  it.  And  the  contents  of  this 
box  (she  gives  Mistress  Tonarmee  the  second  parcel)  are 
for  your  boys,  your  pupils. 

MISTRESS  TONARMEE. 

My  best  thanks,  my  best  thanks,  you  are  really 
too  generous  !  My  husband  will  also  be  greatly 

obliged. 

MISTRESS  CHEEYO. 

And  now  I  think  I  had  better  go.  I  entrust 
my  child  to  you.  (To  Kotaro)  You  will  be  good 
and  obedient,  my  dear.  I  only  go  to  the  next 
village,  I  will  soon  be  back. 

KOTARO. 

Oh,  mother,  don't  leave  me  alone  !  Take  me 
with  you  !  (And  as  she  is  leaving  he  pulls  her  sleeve.) 

MISTRESS   CHEEYO. 

What  a  little  coward  you  are  !  Are  you  not 
ashamed,  Kotaro  ?  (To  Mistress  Tonarmee.)  You  see 
how  spoilt  he  is.  (Caressing  him.)  There's  a  good 
boy,  a  nice  boy.  Remain  here  and  be  brave.  I 
will  soon  be  back.  (Exit  with  Sanzookee.  But  when 
leaving  the  room,  and  afterwards  when  she  is  already  outside, 
she  turns  her  head  again  and  again,  looking  passionately  and 

—    91    — 


tenderly  upon  Kotaro.  Finally,  after  having  closed  the  door 
she  returns  once  more.)  Oh,  6XCUS6  my  troubling  you 
again.  I  must  have  forgotten  my  fan.  (They  look 
for  it.) 

MISTRESS  TONARMEE 

(after  a  few  moments). 
But  look,  you  have  it  in  your  hand,  there  is 

your  fan. 

MISTRESS  CHEEYO 

(surprised). 

Oh  !     It  is  true  !     How  foolish  I  am  !     (As  she 

now  definitely  leaves  the  room,  she  looks  once  more  at  her 
son  longingly,  sadly.) 

MISTRESS  TONARMEE 

(consoling  Kotaro). 

Don't  be  sad,  my  darling.  Come  to  my  son 
and  play  with  him.  (She  leads  him  to  Shoozigh  and 
tries  all  sorts  of  means  to  brighten  him.) 


(Enters  GANZO.) 

(He  is  pale  and  worried.    Stopping  at  the  door  he  looks  at  the 
pupils,  examining  their  faces,  without  noticing  Kotaro.) 

GANZO 

(angrily,  aside). 

Peasants'  faces  .  .  .  Common  peasants'  heads 
.  .  .  No  use  .  .  .  too  vulgar,  too  low  .  .  .  (He 
site  down,  brooding.) 

—    92    — 


MISTRESS  TONARMEE 

(observes  him.  First  she  is  astonished,  but  afterwards  she 
becomes  anxious.  She  sits  down  facing  her  husband, 
and  after  a  rather  long  silence  she  begins  :) 

How  pale  you  are,  my  lord,  how  much  distressed  ! 
And  secret  words  you  murmur  to  yourself  ! 
Say,  what  has  happened  ?     Say,  why  do  you 

glance 

So  full  of  anger  and  anxiety 

At  these  poor  boys  ?    Oh,  do  not  look  so  wrathful. 
Let  me  beseech  you,  Ganz5,  my  dear  lord  ! 
See  here,  this  boy.     'Tis  the  new  pupil.     And 
Methinks,  he  is  a  nice  and  handsome  child. 

(To  Kotaro.) 
Approach  now,  Kotar5,  and  greet  your  master. 

KOTARO 

(makes  a  deep  obeisance  and  cowers  down). 

My  lord,  please  take  me.     For  I  will  with  all 
My  heart  be  faithful,  true,  obedient. 

GANZO 

(looking  at  him  thoughtlessly). 

'T  is  well.     Return  you  to  your  place. 

(KATAEO  gets  up  again.  GANZO  by  chance  notices  his  face. 
He  seems  astonished  and  throws  several  rapid  glances  at 
the  child.  His  aspect  slowly  becomes  less  dismal.) 

—    93    — 


(Aside)  I  marvel  ! 

This  is  ...  (Aloud)  Ha  Kotaro !  .  .  .  You  are  .  .  . 

in  truth  .  .  . 
Come  here  and  look  at  me.     (Aside)  There  is  no 

doubt  .  .  . 
(Aloud) 
You  are  .  .  .  You're  a  good  boy,  my  Kotaro, 

A  pretty  boy,  a  fair,  well-mannered  boy, 
Of  goodly  stock. 

(To  Mistress  Tonarmee)  Do  you  not  think  SO  ? 

MISTRESS  TONARMEE. 

Yes, 
And  I  am  happy  that  he  pleases  you, 

For  when  you  saw  him,  all  the  gloomy  clouds 
At  once  fled  from  your  face.     Believe  me  :  he 
Will  be  a  clever  scholar.     When  his  mother 
Who  brought  him  here  .  .  . 

GANZO 

(interrupting  her). 

His  mother  ?     What  ? 

His  mother  ? 
Is  she  still  here  ? 

MISTRESS  TONARMEE. 

She  left  in  a  great  hurry, 
Important  business  was  expecting  her 
In  the  next  village.     But  she  will  return  .  .  . 
She'll  not  be  long. 

—   94   — 


GANZO 

(constrained). 
Oh  ...  Is  that  so  ?    ... 

Not  long  ?  .  .  . 

Yes  .  .  .   Yes  .  .  .   What  did  I  say  ?  ...  My 

mind  is  absent  .  .  . 
I  am  engaged  upon  important  things. 
"Tis  holiday  this  afternoon.     The  boys 
May  play  now  in  the  back  room,  as  they  like. 
But  no  mischief  !     No  noise  !     I  do  not  wish 
To  be  disturbed,  ye  rascals  ! — Put  your  things 
Away  first  .  .  .  neatly  .  .  .  decently  .  .  .   Now 

go. 
'Tis  holiday. 

(THE  BOYS  get  up.  There  is  a  great  noise.  Having  packed 
their  writing  apparatus,  they  put  their  desks  in  a  corner 
of  the  room.  Then  they  leave  with  cries  of  joy.  GANZO 
looks  after  them  thoughtfully.  MISTRESS  TONARMEE, 
when  they  have  left,  shuts  the  door  and  comes  back  to 
her  husband.  She  looks  around  as  if  to  see  whether 
thej  are  unobserved  and  then  sits  down  opposite  him.) 

MISTRESS  TONARMEE. 

Why  are  you  worried  ?     Say, 
What  has  occurred  ?     When  you  arrived  so  pale 

and  so 

Depressed,  at  once  some  secret  apprehension 
Pervaded  all  my  frame.     And  afterwards  .  .  . 

—   95   —  o 


You  seemed  to  muster  all  our  boys.     It  was — 
Forgive  me — it  was  strange  and  terrifying — 

(GANZO  nods  half  absently.) 

And  then — quite  suddenly — 'twas  odd — I  saw 
A  flash  that  darted  from  your  eyes.    It  was 
As  soon  as  you  had  noticed  the  new  boy. 
Ill  luck, — I  am  afraid, — ill  luck  awaits  us. 

GANZO. 

Ill  luck  ? — Yea — verily — because —  ...  In  short 
We  are  betrayed.     Discovered  is  the  secret 
That  here  our  young  lord  is  concealed,  that  here 
As  our  own  son  we  rear  him.      Tokeeheera, 
The  chancellor,  knows  this  full  well  and  longs 
To  slay  the  last  of  Sugawara's  offspring 
Whose  vengeance  would  be  feared  should  he 

grow  up. 

MISTRESS  TONARMEE. 

Oh,  frightful  news  !    I  feared  it  !    And,  my  lord, 
How  did  you  learn  that  ? 

GANZO. 

At  the  mayor's  party. 
It  was  a  trap.     A  trap  to  catch  me  ;  to 
Prevent  us  from  a  timely  flight.    Gembah, 

—   96   — 


The  chancellor's  chamberlain  approached 

me.      More  than 

A  hundred  men  followed  his  steps.      "  Ganzo !  " 
Cried  he,  "  We  know  thy  secret.    Yes,  we  know  it ! 
That  boy,  whom  wrongly  as  a  son  thou  claimest, 
Surrender  him  to  us.     For  'tis  young  Shoozigh. 
Oh  wicked,  evil,  vicious  man !    How  darest  thou 
Still  shield  the  enemies  of  Tokeeheera? 
The  order  hear  that  we  now  bring:  Within 
Two  hours  thou  wilt  deliver  us  the  head 
Of  young  Shoozigh.    If  not, — we  are  to  enter 
Thy  house,  ourselves  to  fetch  that  urchin's  head. 
And  as  for  thee  :  the  chancellor's  wrath  will  find 
Thee  soon." — Such  were  his  words.     How  had  I 

liked 
At  once  to  give  an  answer  to  this  scoundrel, 

An  answer  with  the  sword !    But  they  were  many, 
And  shrewdness  seemed  a  better  thing  than  force. 
Therefore,  I  swallowed  my  repugnance,  seeming 
To  obey,  but  asked  that  they  would  grant  me 

time, 

So  that  I  might  achieve  the  deed.     Beside  him 
There  stood  Matsuo,  he,  the  only  one 
At  court,  who  knows  Shoozigh.     The  chancellor, 
So  that  the  head  might  be  identified, 
Had  summoned  Matsuo.     Oh  shame,  oh  shame ! 

—   97   — 


He,  too,  then,  has  forgotten  our  old  lord, 
Forgotten  gifts,  support,  and  aid  ;  and  now 
Betrays  his  offspring.     What  disgrace !    So  ill 
Is  he,  so  weak,  his  feeble  limbs  can  scarce 
Support  him.     But  for  crime  and  treachery 
He  still  has  strength.     Now  listen  well.     We  are 
Surrounded,  and  we  cannot  fly.     I  must, 
Must  find  a  head  resembling  young  Shoozigh's. 
For  if  I  fail,  he's  lost.     On  my  way  home, 
I  meditated  :  What,  if  in  his  place 
One  of  my  pupils  I  should  sacrifice? 
But  how  could  anybody  be  deceived 
By  such  low  features?     Who  could  deem  he  saw 
The  visage  of  a  noble,  high-born  child  ? 
Thus,  full  of  pain  and  anguish  came  I  home, 
Despairing  lest  I  should  not  save  Shoozigh. 
And  suddenly  I  saw  that  unknown  boy. 
In  truth,  say,  is  he  not  like  our  young  lord? 
'Tis  Heaven,  wife,  sent  us  that  child !    The  gods, 
Who  will  deliver  our  young  lord,  have  sent 
This  substitute,  and  sent  him  in  the  hour 
Of  need.    'Tis  the  will  of  the  gods,  beyond 
All  doubt !     The  boy  must  die.     His  evil  spirit 
Has  placed  him  in  our  hands.    Yes,  we  will  kill 

him, 
And  to  the  messenger  we  will  deliver 

—    98    — 


His  head.     Then — let  us  flee,  flee  rapidly 
With  our  young  lord.     If  we  make  haste,  we  can 
In  a  few  hours  gain  the  frontier,  and  so  reach 
Kawachi,  where  we  need  not  fear  detection. 

MISTRESS   TONARMEE. 

Hour  of  despair !     Alas !  Oh,  is  it  true 
That  cruelly  we  must  shed  this  guiltless 

blood? 

'Tis  true.    We  must.    For  nothing  is  as  holy 
As  duty  to  one's  lord.    And  if  we  had 
To  sacrifice  a  world — well,  'twould  be  done. 
But  will  it  be  of  use?    Did  you  not  say 
Yourself  :  Matsuo  is  to  testify 
If  truly  'tis  the  head.    He  knows  the  boy. 
His  eye  will  never  be  deceived.    'Tis  all 
In  vain.    He  will  find  out  our  stratagem. 


GANZO. 

Well,  if  he  does,  'twill  be  his  doom !    I'll  watch 
His  features,  wife,  my  sword  in  hand.    And  if 
It  must  be,  if  it  must,  I'll  throw  him  down 
With  one  bold  stroke !     Then  like  a  tiger,  casting 
Myself  upon  his  men,  I'll  drive  them  forth. — 

Or  .  . 
Or  I  will  die  with  my  young  lord,  in  order 

—   99    — 


That  on  his  journey  to  the  other  world 

He  may  be  followed  by  his  faithful  servant. 

However,  there  is  little  danger  that 

Matsuo  will  frustrate  my  sound  design. 

The  likeness  of  the  boys  is  marvellous, 

And  what  dissimilarity  there  is 

In  life — will  surely  disappear  in  death. 

But  peril  threatens  from  another  side  : 

The  mother  !     If  she  should  return,  ill-timed, 

Ask  for  her  boy,  raise  an  alarm,  and  hinder 

The  flight — then  —if  she  comes — then  woe  to  her  ! 

She,  too  !  .  .  . 

MISTRESS  TONARMEE. 

She,  too  ?  .  .  .  Oh,  word  of  dread  and  horror  ! 
With  all  sorts  of  discourses  will  I  try 
And  put  her  off,  will,  when  she  comes  .  .  . 

GANZO. 

No  !  no  ! 
Already  her  mistrust  may  be  aroused. 

For  people  talk  and  say  that  in  the  village 
Peculiar  things  to-day  will  happen.     Therefore, 
She  wTill  insist  on  seeing  her  son.     It  must 
Not  be  !     Too  weighty  are  the  stakes  !     I  pray, 
Pray  fervently  she  may  not  come.     But  if 

—  100  — 


She  comes,  she  never,  nevermore  must  leave  us. 
To  do  some  devil's  deed  we  are  appointed  ; 
So  let  us  devils  be  without  a  scruple. 
She  dies  ! — must  die  !     The  safety  of  our  lord 
Demands  it. 

MISTRESS  TONARMEE. 

Well,  let  us  be  devils,  if 
It  can't  be  otherwise.    (Crying)    Oh,  wretched 

child, 

Ill-fated  mother  !     Why  did  she  come  to-day 
Entrusting  us  with  her  beloved  treasure  ? 
And  woe  to  us  who  undertook  to  be 
His  father,  mother — and  who'll  butcher  him. 
Oh,  day  of  grief  and  sorrow,  mournful  day  ! 

(Q-EMBAH  opens  the  door.  MATSTJO  is  seen  sitting  in  a  litter. 
SOME  PEASANTS  push  into  the  courtyard,  pursuing  both 
knights  with  humble  obeisances.) 

SEVERAL  PEASANTS. 

Oh,  mighty  lords,   have  pity  !     Our   children 
are  also  within.     Oh,  mercy,  mercy  ! 

—  101  — 


FIRST  PEASANT. 

My  little  boy  is  only  just  beginning  to  write. 
Oh,  let  him  go  free  ! 

SECOND  PEASANT. 

Lord,  my  grandson  !  If  by  mistake  you 
should  cut  off  his  head,  you  couldn't  put  it  on 
again.  Oh,  let  him  go  free,  Sir  knight  ! 

THIRD  PEASANT. 

For  the  love  of  heaven,  be  careful.  My  boy  is 
just  the  same  age  as  the  young  lord.  For  the 
love  of  heaven,  let  me  go  and  fetch  him. 

MANY. 
Let  us  go  in,  dear  Sir  knights ! 

GEMBAH 

(brutally  driving  away  the  peasants  who  are  crowding 
about  him). 

Cursed,  burdensome  mob!  They  all  buzz 
together  like  blow-flies.  To  hell  with  you! 
Nobody  will  harm  your  dirty,  silly  brats.  Take 
them  away  and  hurry  !  (He  turns  his  back  to  them 
and  laughs  ironically.)  To  mistake  idiotic  peasant 
faces  for  the  features  of  a  samurai!  .  .  .  ha,  ha, 
ha,  ha! 

—  102  — 


MATSUO 

(comes  out  of  his  litter,  slowly  approaches  the  door,  leaning 
heavily  on  his  long  sword,  using  it  as  a  support). 

All  the  same,  Gembah,  be  not  too  hasty  in 
giving  them  their  liberty.  I  alone  bear  all  the 
responsibility,  for  I  alone  know  the  boy.  How 
easily  one  of  these  peasants  could  have  been 
brought  into  the  plot  and  now  pretend  Shoozigh 
to  be  his  son !  (To  the  peasants)  Be  calm,  you. 
Call  your  children  by  their  names,  I  wish  to  see 
them  before  giving  them  up  to  you. 

ALL  THE  PEASANTS 

(shout  names  at  the  same  time). 

MATSUO. 

One  after  the  other ! 

(He  holds  the  handle  of  his  sword  with  an  iron  grasp. 
And  while  GANZO  and  MISTRESS  TONARMEE  listen  with 
anxiety  from  within  to  the  names  called  out,  the  fathers 
and  hoary  headed  grandfathers  wait,  full  of  concern, 
outside  the  door.) 

FIRST  PEASANT. 

Choma,  Choma! 

—  103  — 


GANZO 

(standing  near  the  door  that  leads  to  the  backroom  repeats 
the  names  called  out,  shouting  them  into  the  back  room). 

Choma,  approach ! 

CHOMA 

(enters). 
Here  am  I. 

MATSUO 

(gazing  at  him). 

This  one  has  thoroughly  smudged  his  face 
with  ink.  But  even  if  he  were  washed  he  would 
never  become  clean.  Let  him  go,  it  is  not  he. 

(THE  FIRST  PEASANT  takes  Choma's  hand  and  leads  him  away.) 

SECOND  PEASANT. 

Is  Ewama  here  ? — Ewama! 

EWAMA 

(arrives). 


MATSUO 

(gazing  at  him). 

A   nice   lad,   with   a   round  face  like  a  fresh 
persimmon !    Away  with  him. 

(THE  SECOND  PEASANT  takes  him  up  "pick-a-back,"  and  goes 
away  with  him.) 

—    104  — 


THIRD  PEASANT. 

My  darling,  my  dickie-bird,  my  pretty  one  ! 

SILLY 

(the  fifteen-year  old  boor). 

Here  am  I.  (Seeing  that  Ewama  is  carried  away  on 
his  grandfather's  back  he  cries  :)  Take  me  also  pick-a- 
back,  daddy  dear,  pick-a-back  !  Pick-a-back  ! 
(He  howls.) 

THIRD  PEASANT. 

Don't  cry,  dickie-birdie,  don't  cry. 

GEMBAH 

(laughs  sneeringly). 

This  boor  with  his  horse-legs  and  his  sparrow- 
voice  hardly  needs  your  decision,  Matsuo  !  He 
would  be  a  nice  prince  !  Wouldn't  he  ?  (Looking 
after  him.)  The  old  fool  takes  really  his  lanky 
idiot  pick-a-back.  Look  at  him  slinking  away 
like  a  cat  that  has  stolen  a  piece  of  dry  salmon  ! 

FOURTH  PEASANT. 

Tokuzan  !  Tokuzan  !  For  the  love  of  heaven, 
Sir  knight,  don't  mix  him  up  with  the  young  lord 
Shoozigh.  Isn't  he  a  beautiful  boy,  Sir  knight  ? 

(TOKUZAN  is  about  to  steal  away,  but  MATSUO  catches  him.) 

—    105  — 


MATSUO. 

Stop,  my  boy,  stop  !  Is  yours  a  guilty 
conscience  ?  Let  me  look  at  you  more  carefully. 
Your  face  has  the  shape  of  a  melon,  and  your 
complexion  is  quite  white,  oh  !  (Looks  again  at  him.) 
But  you  are  dirty,  you,  you  filthy  urchin.  Run 
away  as  fast  as  you  can.  (Kicks  him.) 

GEMBAH 

(angrily). 

Pooh,  Ganzo,  call  up  the  last  three  of  these 
peasant  brats  together.  From  what  I  have  seen 
up  to  now,  I  would  dare  decide  alone.  It's  turnips 
that  grow  on  a  turnip  field. 


as  he  has  been  told,  calls  the  last  three  boys  ; 
GEMBAH  and  MATSUO  examine  them  rapidly  and 
let  them  go.  The  sliding  door  is  closed.  GEMBAH 
and  MATSUO  sit  down  opposite  Ganzo.) 

GEMBAH. 

Now  then,  Ganzo,  do  what  you  promised  me. 
Before  my  very  eyes,  so  you  have  sworn, 
You  will  behead  the  boy.     Make  haste,  and  then 
Deliver  me  the  head  ! 

—  106  — 


GANZO 

(calmly  and  self-assured). 

And  do  you  think 

That  I  can  catch  the  chancellor's  noble  son 
Unceremoniously  by  his  young  throat 
And  wring  his  neck,  and  cut  then  off  his  head, 
As  if  he  were  a  dog  ?     A  little  patience  ! 
Give  me  some  time,  Sir,  to  achieve  it.     (He  gets  up 
and  is  about  to  go  into  the  back  room). 

MATSUO. 

Stop, 
Ganzo,  one  instant  !     (He  stares  at  him.) 

"Pis  in  vain  you  try 

To  cheat  us.     If  you  think  that  in  this  short 
Delay  you  may  remove  your  little  lord 
Through  some  back   door,  your  cunning  comes 

too  late. 

More  than  a  hundred  men  surround  your  house, 
And  not  a  rat  could  possibly  escape. 
Nor  think  you  that  you  can  deceive  me,  if 
By  chance  you  offer  me  another  head 
Believing  all  dissimilarities 
Might  be  by  death  effaced.     But  such  a  trick, 
My  friend,  could  not  mislead  me.     Very  soon 
You  would  repent.  .  .   . 

—  107  — 


GANZO 

(scarcely  able  to  restrain  himself). 

Keep  for  yourself  your  care, 
Tis  stupid  and  superfluous.     The  real 
Authentic  head  shall  soon  lie  here  before  you, 
And  ev'n  your  weak  distorted  eyes  will  not 
Mistake  it. 

GEMBAH 

(impatiently). 

Spare  yourself  these  words  and  go  ! 
'Tis  time  for  deeds  now,  not  for  empty  talk. 
(He  gives  Ganzo  a  wooden  box  into  which  to  put  the 
head.     GANZO  exit  through  the  centre  door.) 


(There  is  a  pause.  MISTRESS  TONARMEE  sits,  listening 
uneasily,  while  MATSUO  glances  around  inquisitively. 
After  a  while  he  counts  the  desks  and  book-boxes.) 

MATSUO. 

How  strange,  how  singular  !     These  little  devils 
Which  we  let  run  —  were  there  not  seven  ?     Now  ! 
There  is  one  desk  too  many,  I  count  eight  ! 

(To  Mistress  Tonarmee.) 

Tell    me,    to    whom    belongs  this  desk  ?     (Shows 
Kotaro's  desk.) 

—  108   — 


MISTRESS    TONARMEE 

(frightened  and  confused.) 

This  desk  .  .  . 
To  the  new  pupil  .  .  . 

MATSUO. 

What? 

MISTRESS    TONARMEE 

I'm  tattling  .  .  .  No, 

There's  no  new  pupil,  sir,  no  ! — don't  believe  it. 
It  is  Kwan  Shoozigh's  desk,   Kwan    Shoozigh's, 

really, 
Believe  me  .  .  . 

MATSUO 

(impatiently.) 

Well,  I  do  believe  you.     But, 
Why  does  not  he  make  haste.    My  illness  .  .  . 

I... 

(Behind  the  scene  a  noiae  like  the  falling  of  a  body  is 
heard ;  MISTRESS  TONARMEE  starts  wildly,  MATSUO 
makes  only  a  scarcely  noticeable  movement. 
MISTRESS  TONARMEE  first  moves  as  if  to  hurry  into 
the  back  room,  but  masters  herself  and  remains 
standing  full  of  anxiety). 

—   109   — 


GANZO 

(enters,  holding  in  his  hand  the  closed  wooden  box,  and  places 
it  quietly  before  Matsuo.) 

What  you  commanded  is  fulfilled.     Here  is 
Kwan  Shoozigh's  head.     Now  examine  it  well, 
My  noble  lord  Matsu5  !     Be  severe  ! 
Make  no  mistake. 

(He  sits  down  somewhat  to  one  side,  watching  Matsuo  sharply, 
and  holding  the  handle  of  his  sword.) 

MATSUO 

(to  some  of  the  soldiers  which  GEMBAH  has  meanwhile  beckoned 
into  the  room.) 

Look  out,  you  men  !     Go  there  ! 

(pointing  to  Granzo.) 
And  watch  this  couple. 

(He  draws  the  box  as  near  as  possible  towards  himself ; 
keeping  his  eyes  shut  he  pulls  up  the  lid.  Then, 
slowly,  as  if  he  were  dreaming,  he  opens  his  eyes. 
He  looks  at  the  head  for  some  time  in  deep  silence, 
then  he  touches  it  with  a  slightly  trembling  hand. 
For  the  fraction  of  a  second  an  expression  of  mental 
pain,  only  suppressed  with  difficulty,  passes  over  his 
features,  but  disappears  immediately.  The  others 
are  filled  with  anxious  expectation.) 

—  110  — 


MATSUO 

(after  a  pause,  slowly,  with  stoical  calm.) 

Well,  there  is  no  doubt  ! 

This  head  is  Kwan  Shoozigh's  .  .  .  There  is  no 

doubt  ! 

(He  shuts  the  box,  pressing  upon  the  lid.  GANZO 
and  MISTRESS  TONARMEE  sigh  with  relief,  and 
quickly  glance  at  each  other.) 

GEMBAH 

(gets  up). 

At  last,  at  last  !     You  have  behaved  with  courage, 
Ganzo,  and  have  deserved  some  compensation. 
For  having  hidden  Kwan  Shoozigh  instead  of 
Delivering  him  to  us  you  should  have  died  ! 
But  as  you  made  amends,  as  you  performed 
With  your  own  hand  the  execution — you 
Are  pardoned. 

(To  MATSUO.) 

Come,  Matsuo,  come,  make  haste, 
We  now  will  hurry  to  the  court,  and  bring 
Immediately  the  happy  news  to  Shihei. 
He  waits  with  violent  impatience  there 
And  burns  to  hear  our  embassy's  success. 

—  ill  —  H 


MATSUO. 

You're  right,  friend  Gembah,  bring  him  speedily 
These  long  expected  news.     Bring  the  head  also. 
But  I  must  be  excused.     I  am  unwell  — 
Worse  is  my  malady  than  it  appears, 
Indeed,  much  worse.     Obtain  for  me  permission 
That  I  may  be  dispensed  from  further  service. 

GEMBAH. 

That  shall  be  as  it  pleases  you.     Go  home, 
And  take  care  of  yourself.     As  for  your  duty, 
'Tis  done.     Farewell  ! 

MATSUO. 

My  duty's  done.     Farewell  ! 

(Q-BMBAH  takes  the  box  and  exit  with  the  soldiers,  MATSUO 
follows  him,  leaning  wearily  on  his  sword.  He  enters 
his  litter  and  is  carried  away.) 


(For  a  while  GANZO  and  MISTRESS  TONARMEB  remain 
sitting,  fixed  in  amazement,  and  look  incredulously 
in  the  direction  which  the  others  have  taken.  Then 
GANZO  goes  to  the  door  and  bolts  it.  Both  sit  down 
once  more,  facing  each  other,  and  heave  a  sigh  of 
relief.  MISTRESS  TONARMEE  raises  her  clasped  hands 
to  heaven,  and  bows  down  to  the  floor  several  times, 
as  if  offering  a  prayer  of  ardent  thanksgiving.) 

—  112   — 


GANZO. 

The  gods  be  thanked — and  thou,  great  Buddha, 

too  ! 

Indeed,  our  lord,  by  his  exalted  virtue 
Has  brought  upon  us  heavenly  protection. 
This  devil's  open  eye  was  closed  with  clouds, 
Was  struck  with  blindness.     Yea  !     Rejoice,  my 

wife, 
And  may  our  dear  young  lord  live  many  days  ! 

MISTRESS    TONARMEE. 

I  scarce  believe  it.     Was  it  our  lord's  spirit 
That  sat  upon  Matsuo's  eyes  ?     Or  was 
The  child  itself  a  gracious  kindly  spirit  ? 
To  take  a  common  flint  for  some  rare  jewel  ! 
Oh,  let  us  thank  the  gods  with  all  our  heart  ! 

(At  this  moment  someone  outside  knocks  several  times  at 
the  door.  Q-ANZO  and  MISTRESS  TONARMEE  get 
frightened.) 

MISTRESS  CHEEYO 

(outside). 

Holloa,  open  the  door  !     'Tis  I,  the  mother  of 
the  new  pupil  !     Let  me  come  in  ! 

—  113  — 


MISTRESS  TONARMEE 

(whispering,  afraid). 

Good  heavens,  Ganzo,  it  is  the  mother  !  We 
are  lost  !  What's  to  be  done  ?  What  shall  we 
say? 

MISTRESS  CHEEYO 

(outside). 

Open  !      Open  !      (Knocks  louder.) 

GANZO 

(angrily,  to  Mistress  Tonarmee). 

Silence,  foolish  woman  !  Do  you  not  hear 
me  ?  Keep  quiet,  we  shall  manage  somehow  or 
other. 

(He  pushes  Mistress  Tonarmee  aside,  opens  the  door  and  lets 
in  Mistress 


MISTRESS  CHEEYO 

(in  visible  alarm). 

Ah  !  Is  it  you,  Master  Takebe  Ganzo  ?  Are 
you  the  worthy  master  ?  I  brought  you  my  boy 
this  morning.  Where  is  he  ?  I  hope  he  is  not  a 
nuisance  ? 

—  114  — 


GANZO. 

He  is  not  ! — He  is  there  in  the  backroom, 
playing  with  the  other  boys.  Do  you  wish  to  see 
him  ?  Will  you  take  him  home  ? 

MISTRESS  CHEEYO. 

Yes,  let  me  see  him,  I  will  take  him  away. 

GANZO 

(getting  up). 

Then  come.    Will  you  please  enter  this  room  .  . 

(MISTRESS  CHEEYO  turns  towards  the  backroom  door ; 
GANZO,  behind  her,  draws  his  sword  and  strikes  at  her, 
but  at  this  instant  she  turns  round  and  cleverly 
evades  the  blow.  She  runs  among  the  desks,  takes 
that  of  her  son,  and  wards  off  with  it  another  blow 
from  Ganzo.) 

MISTRESS  CHEEYO. 

Stop,  stop  ! 

GANZO 

(strikes  once  more). 
To  hell  ! 

(The  stroke  splits  the  desk  into  pieces,  and  from  it  falls 
a  white  shroud,  papers  with  prayers  written  on  them, 
a  burial  flag,  and  other  articles  used  at  a  burial). 

—   115   — 


GANZO 

("surprised). 

The  devil  !  What  is  this  ?  (He  drops  his  sword.) 
What  does  this  mean  ? 

MISTRESS  CHEEYO 

(on  her  knees,  bursting  into  tears). 

Oh,  sir,  I  beseech  you.  Did  my  son  die  the 
death  of  sacrifice  ? — Sacrificed  to  his  young  lord 
Kwan  Shoozigh  ? — Or  not  ? — Oh,  I  beg  of  you, 
tell  me  the  truth  ! 

GANZO 

(dumbfounded) . 

How  ?  What  ?  The  death  of  sacrifice  ?  Your 
son  sacrificed  ?  Did  you  then  .  .  on  purpose  ?  .  . 
You  could  purposely —  ? 

MISTRESS  CHEEYO. 

Oh,  my  darling,  my  beloved  child  !  Sacrificed, 
voluntarily  sacrificed,  so  as  to  save  his  lord's  life. 
What  use  would  then  be  this  shroud,  these 
prayers,  this  flag  with  the  inscription  on  it  : 
"  Namu  Amida  Butsu  "  ? 

—  116  — 


GANZO. 

Woman,  you  horrify  me.     I  cannot  understand  ! 
Who  are  you  ?     Who  is  your  husband  ? 

(Again  there  is  a  knock  at  the  door.  MATSTTO  opens  it 
from  outside,  enters,  shuts  the  door  behind  him,  and 
sits  down  gravely). 

MATSUO 

(recites  the   verses  written   by   the   chancellor, 
Saguwara-no-Michizane). 

"  The  plum-tree  follows  me  through  the  air, 

Withered  and  dried  is  the  cherry-tree. 
Should  then  the  pine-tree  so  lofty  and  fair 
Alone  be  heartless  and  faithless  to  me?''. 

Rejoice,  beloved  wife,  our  son  has  died 
The  noble  death  of  sacrifice  for  our  dear  lord  ! 
(MISTRESS  CHEEYO  throws  herself  on  the  floor  crying  loudly.) 

MATSUO 

(much  moved,  turns  towards  her.) 

O,  my  good  wife,  my  perfect,  faithful  wife, 
Yea,  weep  a  mother's  tears  .  .  .  well  may  you 

do  so. 

(To  Ganzo.) 

You  must  forgive,  Ganzo  :  The  hearts  of  parents 
Claim  now  their  rights  with  overpowering  force. 

—  117  — 


GANZO 

(between  surprise  and  emotion.) 
I  cannot  grasp  it.     Do  I  dream  ?     Or  is  this 
Reality  ?     Matsud,  you,  the  vassal 
Of  Tokeeheera,  are  you  not  our  foe  ? 
Have  you  not  broken  long  ago  the  bonds 
Which  tied  you  formerly  to  Michizane's  house  ? 
Just  now  I  heard  you  talk  and  .  .  .  your  own 

son  .  .  . 
And  consciously — your  son — I  am  amazed. 

MATSUO. 

Well  may  you  be  surprised.     Disastrous  fate, 

Fate  that  misled  me  on  a  foreign  path, 

Fate  that  enticed  me  to  assist  a  lord 

Who  rages  ruthlessly  against  the  men 

I  loved  and  worshipped  since  my  early  youth, 

Against  the  lord  and  patron  of  my  kindred, 

Against  my  father,  woe  !  against  my  brothers  ! 

Oh  !     How  I  suffered  to  be  parted  from 

All  I  respected,  to  be  called  ungrateful, 

To  know  it  was  deserved,  and  all  the  same 

Not  to  be  able  to  do  otherwise, 

Lest  I  should  basely  break  my  feudal  oath. 

Such  grief,  affliction,  sorrow  must  I  bear 

—  118  — 


That  I  can  only  think,  'tis  punishment 
For  crimes  committed  in  a  former  life. 

I  could  not  bear  it  any  longer.     So, 

In  order  to  detach  myself  unnoticed 

From  Tokeeheera,  I  pretended  that 

Some  illness  had  befallen  me  and  asked 

To  be  discharged  from  service.    And,  just  then, 

There  came  the  news  that  in  your  house  was 

hidden 
Kwan  Shoozigh. — Tokeeheera' s  order  was 

To  kill  the  august  child  at  once,  to  kill  him 
Before  you  could  succeed,  friend,  in  escaping, 
To  kill  him  and  to  bring  his  head  to  court 
In  attestation  that  the  order  was 
Fulfilled.     I  was  the  only  one  who  knew 
Kwan  Shoozigh's  features.      Therefore  I  was 

ordered 
To  follow  here  the  messenger,  so  that  I 

Might  answer  for  the  victim's  genuineness. 

Such  were  the  terms  of  my  dismissal. 

And  now,  Ganzo,  now  you  have  seen  me  doing 

My  duty,  my  last  duty,  let  me  thank 

The  gods  from  my  heart's  depth !     For  have 

they  not 
Allowed  me  to  atone  for  my  offence 

—  119  — 


And  rid  me  of  the  burden  of  my  crime 

At  last  ?      I  knew,  Ganzd,  that  you  would  try 

To  baulk  the  murd'rers  of  your  youthful  lord. 

Yet  what,  what  could  vou  do !     There  was  no 

it 

time 
For  flight.    Deception  was  the  only  means. 

And  then  I  saw,  my  hour  had  come.    At  once 
I  took  the  counsel  of  my  own  dear  wife, 
My  poor,  courageous  wife — and  sent  to  you 
My  son.      I  left  it  to  the  gods  and  you 
To  use  him  as  his  young  lord's  substitute. 
I  came  to  settle  the  account.      I  saw 
Those  desks,  and  saw  that  there  was  one  too 

many, 

And  knew  then  that  my  little  boy  was  here. 
I  realised  what  fate  awaited  me.     But  .  .  . 
Ah  me,  was  the  fair  pine-tree  to  be  heartless 
And  faithless?     Oh !      The  words  of  our  good 

lord, 
Our  gracious,  unf  orgotten  lord,  the  words 

He  aimed  at  me — resounded  in  my  ears. 

The  whole  world  seemed  to  shout  it  in  my  face; 

Yea,  thou  art  heartless — thou  art  faithless. 

Think 

What  I  have  suffered !      And  had  I  not  had 
A  son,  prepared  to  sacrifice  himself 

—  120  — 


For  his  own  father's  fault,  I  should  have  been 
With  my  whole  house  subjected  to  the  scorn, 
The  shame  of  all  the  world. — My  son !    My  son ! 
Thou  saviour  of  our  honour! 

MISTRESS    CHEEYO. 

Saviour  of 

Our  honour  .  .  .  yes !     Let  us  repeat  these 

words, 
A  loving  tribute  to  the  blessed  spirit 

Of  that  dear  child !     Oh,  may  they  rise  to 

heaven, 

And  may  they  fill  him  with  the  purest  joy ! — 
Alas !     When  here  I  left  him,  when  he  wished 
To  follow  me,  my  heart  became  so  sad, 
So  grieved  to  leave  him  in  the  jaws  of  death! 
Let  me  embrace  once  more  my  darling  child ! 
Oh,  put  him  in  my  arms  for  the  last  time 
And  let  me  for  the  last  time  fondle  him  ! 

(She  throws  herself  to  the  ground,  crying  aloud.) 

MISTRESS  TONARMEE 

(approaches  her  full  of  pity). 
Unhappy  mother  !     I  can  feel  for  you 
In  your  affliction.     I  recall  the  words 
He  to  his  master  said  when  first  he  saw  him  : 

—  121  — 


"  My  lord,  please  take  me.     For  I  will  with  all 

My  heart  be  faithful,  true,  obedient." 

Do  I  but  think  of  it,  an  icy  shudder 

Pervades  my  frame  !  and  yet,  no  ties  linked  me 

To  him.    What  then  must  you,  his  mother,  suffer  ? 

MATSUO. 

Oh,  master  this  o'erwhelming  sorrow,  wife, 
And  let  us  bear  with  courage  what  the  gods 
Have  ruled  must  be  our  most  distressing  fate. 

(To  Ganzo.) 

He  knew,  Ganzo,  that  he  was  going  to  meet 
His  death,  when  he  was  brought  here  by  his 

mother. 

For  I  had  told  him,  and  of  his  own  free  will 
He  came,  a  fragile  child  of  scarce  eight  years, 
Yet  fearless  like  a  bold,  undaunted  hero. 
Tell  me,  how  did  he  die  ?     Begged  he  for  life  ? 

GANZO. 

He  died  a  gallant  death.     No  man  could  face  it 
More  boldly  than  he  did.     I  drew  my  sword 
And  whispered  in  his  ear  that  he  must  die 
At  once  and  on  the  spot.     He  just  smiled  gently 
And  calmly  offered  me  his  neck,  awaiting 
The  stroke. 

—  122  — 


MATSUO. 

Oh  brave,  intrepid,  faithful  child  ! 
With  such  fidelity,  with  such  devotion 
My  brother  also  died  in  days  gone  by 
For  his  dear  lord.    They  now  will  find  each  other, 
Will  meet  again,  and  in  the  other  world 
Enjoy  a  rich  reward  for  their  heroic 
Sacrifice.     (Sobbing.)    Oh,  pardon  me,  Ganzo,  if  I 
My  tears  withhold  not  .  .  . 

(He  weeps,  and  they  all  weep  with  him.) 


SHOOZIGH  having  heard  the  sobs  in  the  next   room, 
opens  the  door  and  enters.) 

SHOOZIGH. 

Was  it  then  for  me, 
For  me  this  deed  of  blood  and  cruelty 
Was  done  ?     Had  you  but  told  me  that  these 

soldiers 

Were  seeking  me,  I  never  would  have  let  him 
Make  such  a  sacrifice.     What  misery  ! 
How  deeply  you  have  shamed  me  ! 

(He  weeps  and  covers  his  face  with  his  sleeve.  They  all 
sob.  MATSUO  silently  gets  up,  goes  to  the  door  and 
beckons  to  somebody  outside.) 

_    123   _ 


MATSUO. 

My  young  lord  ! 

Not  with  an  empty  hand  came  I.     No  gift 
Could  be  more  beautiful  than  that  I  brought  you. 
Look  there.      (He  shows  the  door  near  to  which  some  men 
bring  a  closed  litter,  out  of  which  SHOOZIQH'S  mother  descends. 
She  enters.) 

SHOOZIGH. 

O  mother,  my  beloved  mother  ! 

(Shoozigh's  mother.) 
My  son,  my  son  ! 

GANZO 

(after  a  short  pause  of  joyful  astonishment). 

What  do  my  eyes  behold  ! 
Can  it  be  true  ?     'Tis  you,  my  noble  lady  ? 
Oh,  glad  and  joyful  meeting  !     Long  ago 
We  sought  you  vainly,  ev'rywhere.     But  you 
Had  disappeared.     Where  did  you  stay  ?     And 

where 
Found  you  a  shelter  ? 

MATSUO. 

Let  me  tell  you  all. 

When  this  bloodthirsty,  cruel  tyrant  threatened 
Completely  to  destroy  the  noble  kin 
Of  Sugawara,  I  in  secret  led 

—   124  — 


Our  gracious  lady  forth  to  Saga,  where, 
However,  she  was  soon  found  out.    Disguised 
I  went  to  see  her.     Who  in  that  old  begging  friar 
Could    have    suspected    me  ?      Through    many 

dangers 

I  brought  her  here  in  safety,  undiscovered. 
In  safety  ?     Nay  !     E'en  now  we  are  not  safe. 
Therefore  let  us  at  once  for  our  departure 
Make  ready.      We  must  make  great  haste  and 

reach 
Kawachi,  must  have  the  frontier  between 

Ourselves  and  our  fierce  enemy.     And,  besides, 
We  there  shall  find  the  noble  lady's  daughter, 
Awaiting  anxiously  her  mother  and 
Her  brother.      Quick  !      Depart  at  once  !     The 

slightest 
Delay  may  mean  irrevocable  ruin. 

(To  Mistress  Cheeyo.) 

And  now,  wife,  let  us,  as  becomes  his  parents, 
Perform  our  sacred  duty.     Let  us  bury 
All  that  remains  to  us  of  our  dear  child, 
And  offer  sacrifice  to  his  pure  spirit. 

(Meanwhile  MISTRESS  TONARHEE  has  gone  in  the  other 
room.  Now  she  comes  back  carrying  in  her  arms 
the  body  hidden  in  a  shroud.  MATSDO  and  MISTRESS 
CHEEYO  take  off  their  outer  garments,  under  which 
they  already  wear  the  white  mourning  dresses.) 

—  125  — 


GANZO 

No,  no  !     Matsuo  !     It  would  be  too  heartless 
Were  we  to  leave  to  you,  the  stricken  parents, 
The  mournful  burden  of  this  ceremony. 
My  wife  and  I  ... 

MATSUO. 

Oh,  grant  to  me  this  duty. 

(Significantly.) 

For,  friend,  'tis  not'  my  son  whom  I  must  now 
Lament  and  bury — 'tis  Shoozigh,  the  prince. 

(He  takes  the  body  in  his   arms  and  carries  it  away.     And 
while  the  others  follow  him,  sobbing,  the  curtain  is  closed.) 


THE  END. 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


RPR 

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000104033  6 


